


Cantu Ignus

by silvernote17



Category: RWBY
Genre: Dramatics, F/M, Other, Slow Burn, Unpopular pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-14 23:24:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 169,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13018401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvernote17/pseuds/silvernote17
Summary: Pyrrha makes the choice to shoulder a burden that could change the course of Remnant: she must learn to harness the powers of the Fall Maiden. Guided by a pair of icy Atlasians, a dusty old crow, and the Headmaster of Beacon Academy himself, the young huntress realizes true magic isn’t what it seems and the danger of these ancient powers pales in comparison to the evil she’ll need to face.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This absolutely started as a crack fic, slowly became a naggling itch of a plot in the back of my head, and progressed to the mismash of dramatics it is currently. As it has been easily 10+ years since my last published fanfiction and my first piece on Archive of Our Own, I'm going to beg forgiveness if something is out of place and will add tags/change ratings as needed. I'm going to try to stay about ten chapters ahead so I can keep some semblance of cohesiveness without needing to adjust what has already been posted.
> 
> Weird ship is weird, I get that. If you get it, too, then come along for the ride. It'll be the slowest burn you could ever imagine but maybe we'll have some fun.
> 
> Obviously, very little (if anything) is canon and I own none of these characters/places/things.

Pyrrha leaned back in the ornate armchair, stiff and scratchy fabric uncomfortable against her skin. She tried to plump the pillow at her side to provide some relief and glanced around the room for perhaps another. All the furniture in the high-ceilinged study was unwelcoming, carved creatures staring back at her from their perpetual dash across the mahogany. A pack of wolves with snarling, dripping jaws pursued a hart across the top of a solemn settee. Their strong legs stretched long and eyes rolled in the thrill of the hunt, wild but not quite as unsettling as the eyes of the owl peering from a leg of a straight-backed chair near the fireplace. Wide and brilliant, they gazed at her, resolute in their knowledge of her. She shuddered to think of what else the owl had witnessed in this chamber besides the fidgeting girl across the room, waiting for her host….

She received the summons during morning training, her scroll beeping a green as vivid as her eyes – her classmates were scattered across Beacon Academy and her initial assumption was an invitation to study or which time they’d all meet for dinner. She ignored it, continuing her rolls and kicks across the floor, working up a sweat that told her she’d want extra time under a hot shower later. It felt good to move, to work through a routine she’d had in place for years, a familiar and near ritualistic series of exercises that helped her mind as well as her body. 

Training was a certainty in life. It grounded Pyrrha as she improved to celebrity status, the best huntress-in-training of her age in all of Vale. If her picture on the Pumpkin Pete cereal box and four Mistral Tournament trophies weren’t enough, there were golden cups and ribbons and gifts adorning her aunt’s house back home. Her aunt took her in after her mother and father, both talented hunters in their own right, were defeated by a particularly gruesome Grimm attacking a small village south of Atlas. Although she was tiny and didn’t remember much before her time with Auntie May, Pyrrha knew she could be a hero like her parents and worked every second she could on becoming the best huntress she could be. She had the book-smarts to fly through her courses with excellent grades and the kinetic intelligence to unlock her semblance, Polarity, early on in her training. When there were cameras, adoring fans (the shock of having fans had never worn off), talent scouts, and hunters and huntresses vying for her attention, Pyrrha knew she could find her balance again in her training.

A second flash blazed, like the red of her hair, across her scroll. Urgent. Emergency.

Pyrrha dropped her stance and grabbed for the device, terrible situations flashing through her head. Was Ruby in trouble? Norah? Jaune? She had a particularly deep twist in her gut thinking of Jaune trying to reach her in a desperate time of need and what might have befallen him in her selfishness. Her soft top soaked in sweat, she rubbed her hands roughly on her shorts to clear the perspiration preventing her from unlocking her scroll. The alert wasn’t from her team, she blinked, but from the Headmaster of Beacon Academy itself.

Pyrrha blinked twice more to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. She didn’t know of anyone who was summoned directly to the Headmaster’s private study – it was common knowledge Ozpin’s rooms were directly beneath his public offices on the top of the tower – but perhaps she didn’t have enough conversations with others beyond her team to know if this was a regular request of students. Especially for the urgent priority in which it arrived to interrupt her day. 

“Please report to the 17th floor, 5th door on your right, at 7pm. Only your presence, and your presence only, is requested. We have a discussion that cannot be delayed further.”

Muscles releasing from their anxious tension, Pyrrha took three steady breaths before letting her mind spin around what this could possibly involve. A discussion? Pyrrha didn’t think she had talked with Professor Ozpin since her admission to Beacon Academy a year and a half ago. He didn’t teach any subjects and instead seemed to delight in joining whichever class, conversation, or gathering struck his fancy, disappearing as quietly as he appeared and at the most unexpected of times. He had been pleasant shaking her hand as she signed the last of her admittance papers and she tried to recall his grip or what had been in his Beacon Academy mug that day but she couldn’t bring the memory to any sort of detail that could help her figure out what conversation might be delayed to begin with.

The sunlight seemed to stab through the windows of the training room now, assaulting her with their brightness, whereas they were entirely pleasant just ten minutes ago. The room was now too hot, the practice mat unstable beneath her socked feet, and she checked her peripherals to make sure she was still alone. Pyrrha wasn’t a fool – she knew better than to accept the offers of strange men to join them in their living quarters. It happened often enough before she became a full-time student of Beacon that it was like any other unpleasant situation she’d encountered, needing careful and firm diffusion, and none of their propositions had interested her to begin with. She may have lived eighteen years on Remnant but it only took a glance to recognize the potential for trouble. But this was a professor, the Headmaster, someone entrusted not just with her safety but that of every student at his school. With that recollection of responsibility, Pyrrha immediately flushed in embarrassment for even so briefly considering such an indiscretion. It was a smart thing, she reassured herself, a completely reasonable thing to entertain and dismiss as she rattled through the possibilities of the reason behind her summons. She kept herself safe and that was not to be shamed.

Did she fail a class? Was there a complaint serious enough to warrant the Headmasters attention? She did kick Blaise a little harder than necessary the other day in one-on-ones; he may have had it coming for his constant bullying of others but Pyrrha didn’t think she meted out justice that day. Perhaps she had it all wrong and it was a positive thing – a visitor to the Academy where she would be a student ambassador for the evening, or a consultation on her experiences for the betterment of other students, or even (as bland and unfortunate as a positive can be) a talent scout promising a future that her professors believed to be worth their time?

The doors behind her banged open, startling her even though she didn’t allow herself to flinch at the intrusion. Team WXYT bantered amongst themselves, ignoring Pyrrha even as she smiled at them. A year later and she still didn’t have many friends. Her team was all she needed when there were just as many jealous of her successes as there were admirers – she was polite and kind to everyone but they didn’t know how she struggled with their constant closeness during their first year at Beacon. She was nearly thankful for their carelessness as she gathered her gear, Milo and Akouo included, from their resting place against a wall. Her spear and shield wouldn’t be appropriate for the meeting she couldn’t refuse but how did she already wish for their comforting presence…

The owl gazed accusingly at her, demeaning her lack of attention as Pyrrha kept herself from pacing the room. The tapestries above the dark and looming shelves lining the walls were bordered in silver and shimmered in the pale green lamplight. She focused her attention on them more to ignore the mahogany wolves threatening to leap off their relief and rip at her more so than the tension of waiting already did. There were several women woven into the wall hangings, each beautiful and otherworldly, posed serenely (or as serene as they could be for wielding a variety of imposing swords, scythes, and daggers). Their gowns flowed around their bodies, hair dancing in a breeze, and small figures were littered at their feet. Pyrrha couldn’t tell through the shadows what these items were but perhaps didn’t want to look too closely for fear of repulsion similar to that of the carved animals keeping watch on her. Every tapestry depicted one or more of these women and Pyrrha leaned forward to study the face of a blond girl whose features were shaded as she seemed to tend a garden full of fantastical plants.

The doorknob across the room shuddered and Pyrrha jumped out of her seat, stumbling over the legs of a small footstool; their carved fieldmice reproached her clumsy assault. She wore her school uniform, unsure what else would be appropriate and unwilling to take a chance on the red gown or huntress armor hanging in her closet. The latter was well-worn, the other not so much, and Pyrrha wasn’t the type to succumb to material distractions. Even so, she smoothed the cuffs of her white dress shirt from where they wrinkled under her black blazer, more for her own comfort in the sheer act of movement after what felt like such a long wait under such intense scrutiny. 

Professor Ozpin, Headmaster of Beacon Academy, stepped inside his study and smiled thinly at Pyrrha Nikos. He was not unwelcoming but she immediately noticed the stiff slope in his shoulder and grip of his hands on the top of his cane as he took a second to assess the room. He was not an old man but there was no denying his youth was a memory – his eyes betrayed him more than his silvery hair. The hazel carried with it a glimmer of something curious and secret, mirthful at times, occasionally calculating. As he peered over his glasses, Pyrrha forced her confusion down to the pit of her stomach and found her manners.

“Good evening, Headmaster.”

He broke from his stance by the door, cane in hand as he greeted Pyrrha, gesturing to her armchair by the chilled fireplace. 

“I trust I find you comfortable, Ms. Nikos?”

“Yes, sir,” she carefully responded, “I’ve had the gift of time and have been admiring your study in your absence.”

Ozpin waved his hand impatiently, a hint of a smile rippling across his face as he leaned his cane against the matching armchair across from Pyrrha.

“I’m late, you mean. I apologize sincerely. I was –“ 

She didn’t know what to make of the stiffness in his neck as he found the rest of his sentence.

“ –delayed. There are several others who required a say in this evening’s proceedings and these things are best done with consultation of friends and nuisances alike.”

With a flick of his nimble fingers, a spark rolled into a blazing flame in the fireplace and quickly beat away the hazy green light, warming Pyrrha’s face with a heat reminiscent of the oppressive sunlight only this morning when she received his message. He stood with his back to her, seeming to gather his thoughts and delay whatever inevitability was whispering to Pyrrha that this was not to be an evening of frivolity. 

She remained standing in front of her chair, shadows dancing across Ozpin’s back. The cut and fabric of his jacket were of fine quality and he held so perfectly still he could be cast of stone underneath the velvet. Silver threads glinted off the back of his collar, tousled hair brushing along his emerald cowl, and Pyrrha could see his fingers continue to tightly grip the silver top of his cane. 

“Sir, respectfully, I anticipated this meeting as an emergency. The urgent-“

“Yes, I do understand I needed to catch your attention and, yes, the urgency is not to be ignored. There are events, Ms. Nikos, shaping the world around us even as we speak. We are very much defined by their outcome.”

The fire between them crackled; even without wood fuel, the flame sustained by air alone. Ozpin turned to her and she felt as though she was facing a particularly cunning opponent on the battlefield. Her legs tensed and she instinctively sought the weight of her weapons at her sides – she was bare, unprotected in her uniform, and Pyrrha wondered if Ozpin sensed her shift in attention. The tilt in his jaw told her nothing went unnoticed. She felt the heat of the room closing around her again, soaking into each strand of her hair and assuring she’d recall this evening with the intensity of the blaze in the study. There would be no forgetting of any detail in the man closing the gap between them, the seriousness in which he held her gaze, the weight of his shadow blessedly cool across her face.

“What do you know of the Four Maidens?”


	2. Chapter 2

Their silhouettes stretched across the floor as Pyrrha stammered slightly before finding her voice.

“The Four Maidens? That’s a fairy tale, a story for children. I haven’t thought of it since before starting training at Sanctum.” 

“All good myths and legends have an element of truth to them, Ms. Nikos. Share with me how you recall the tale.”

Ozpin moved first, gesturing for Pyrrha to sit in that uncomfortable, scratchy armchair and, as he turned, she realized she was breathing so shallow that she would have swayed on the spot had she less stamina. A deep breath later and she smoothed her skirt as she carefully perched on the edge of the chair. Pyrrha tried to meet Ozpin’s gaze but failed to recall anything but the carved animals watching her as she waited in nervousness for what her evening now was: a recitation of a childhood fable to a man with intentions no more clearer to her now than this morning’s summons. She stared into the heart of the fireplace and gathered Aunt May’s voice to her.

“Once, there were four sisters traveling far from home…

The four sisters were seeking to make a way for themselves in the world, alone but not without their wits or kindnesses. As they wearied one evening, they took retreat in an orchard, gathering boughs around them to shield them from the night wind but not eating a single fruit from the trees. They knew the fruit was not theirs to take and, although hungry, they were not so unfortunate as to be starving. As dawn broke across the fields, an old man approached with a cane in one hand, a basket in another. He gave the youngest sister the basket, shared with them how he appreciated their considerations as guests in his orchard. For this, they could pick whichever fruits they desired and fill the basket for their journey. 

The oldest sister, Winter, walked with the man through his orchard as her younger sisters selected their bounty. They held a conversation in which the man shared his loneliness; his friends and family had passed before him, leaving him very much alone. This loneliness was more crippling than his physical impairments and it troubled Winter to hear this. She shared with him how to reflect on his past with positive insight and how to meditate to clear his troubled mind. The old man was extremely thankful and thanked Winter for her knowledge.

The second oldest sister, Spring, noticed the neglect of the orchard and set about trimming dead branches and clearing spoiled fruit. She soon had the orchard clean of pests and old wood revitalized to bear fruit for years to come. As Winter guided the old man around the orchard on their walk, Spring found an overgrown garden and quickly cleared away choking weeds. She dug her hands deep into the dirt and planted seeds she had collected in her travels, assured they would grow and provide their host with a variety of delicious herbs and vegetables. The old man trembled in happiness to see his land tended so carefully and with such love. There were flowers he had never seen before, growing rapidly before his eyes and in colors he had never imagined, all for the purpose of his enjoyment.

The second youngest sister, Summer, taught him what all the new plants were called and described where her sister had found them. As they all shared a meal together with the old man, Summer told wonderful stories of their travels, painting vivid pictures of the world beyond. The man had not traveled past his own land’s borders in many years and she brought him news of change. Initially reluctant to accept these changes, the old man was increasingly stirred to think better of his assumptions and embrace more and more of the truths Summer had to share.

The sisters slept once more in the orchard, resting in beds of sweet-grass and feathery ferns, and the old man came in the morning to wish them well before they continued their travels. He brought another basket, this time with four objects inside: gifts for his visitors. He started to apologize for their meager value, lamenting they were not pearls or gold, when the youngest sister, Fall, took his hand kindly. She thanked him on behalf of all the sisters and encouraged him to be thankful for what he had to offer. They did not need pearls or gold – they needed food, a safe place to rest, and companionship. He provided that to them without apology until this point and why should he diminish that gift now as they prepared to depart? Many others did not have even one of those things to share with them, much less so freely as he gave. The old man wept as he gave them their gifts, they bid him a fond farewell...

…and the four sisters became legend. One version of the story claims the gifts the old man gave them were spelled and the sisters brought that magic to the rest of the world. Another says the four sisters themselves were enchantresses and the old man was just one of many they helped in their thoughtful ministrations across Remnant.”

Pyrahh brushed her hair aside, felt the rough tapestry under her fingertips, roused herself from her steady focus. Had she glanced up from the fire for even a moment, she doubted she would have continued with such conviction; Ozpin’s intensity was unmasked as Pyrrha finished her tale. The air between them practically crackled and she tensed as he leaned forward.

“Ms. Nikos.”

She leveled her gaze to his before finding her steadiness. This was quickly becoming an evening of endurance and she could hardly recall such a lack in confidence; perhaps last she felt so confused was as her opponent pinned her in a near loss during her fourth Mistrel Tournament. Pyrahh remembered the fear that bound her ribcage, the weariness in her limbs and the leaden weight of her head as the huntress on top of her tightened her grip. The roar of the crowd filled her ears as her vision started to fail and then –

“Professor, why am I here?”

Pyrrha could breathe again, finding the strength to break the promise of loss. She pushed the uncertainty aside, rolled it off her like she flipped that huntress, freeing herself for another chance at victory. She didn’t know what Ozpin was about, asking her to his study to tell children’s stories, but this strange encounter would not find her at a loss any longer.

The firelight highlighted the resolute set of her jaw as she turned toward him with her whole body, setting herself firmly and commanding his attention entirely on her bright green eyes. He was delaying and Pyrrha would not allow it any longer.

“There are things in this world that are not fully understood, not completely unveiled to the citizens of Remnant, and there are people who keep those things shrouded. My role in this is not entirely by choice but I make no apologies, nor excuses, for my decisions if it keeps Remnant safe. My obligations to my students are second to the necessity of this task. Ms. Nikos, you have been selected to undertake a similar obligation.”

She wondered if it was his doing as the fire slightly fading to a tolerable glow, crisp fresh air filling Pyrrha’s lungs now that the flames ceased their attempts to reach beyond the fireplace. The flickering light across his glasses distracted her from the stranger shadows cast now by the wood-carved animals circling them both with their twisted forms. Ozpin gathered himself, stood with his weight on his cane, and gestured to the tapestries above the shelves.

“This story is based in truth, Ms. Nikos, and you are now part of it. These four sisters were real, women who walked this land thousands of years ago, and did indeed help those in need. The gifts given to them by the old man are known as Relics and they were enchanted. These Relics infused the women with powers unknown to anyone at the time, truly unique and extraordinarily potent magic.”

Pyrrha wondered if those objects scattered at the feet of the women were the Relics the headmaster spoke of but she didn’t dare turn to look at the tapestry behind her. The gleaming threads in his coat shimmered in the firelight, his lean form trimmed in the green glow of the lamps around them. An arm draped over the fireplace, spooking birds of prey in their flight across the ebony mantel, and Ozpin did not look at Pyrrha again for a long while.

“The citizens of Remnant were greedy and grew dangerous. A few wise hunters and huntresses understood the need to protect the sisters, even as the sisters grew increasingly powerful themselves. It was determined the best course of action would be to hide them from the world, shield them from harm, and scatter the truth into myth. As years passed, the sisters did not age and continued their work in secret and out of sight. One of the huntresses failed in her duty and a sister was slain in her sleep by a man full of avarice – the assailant quickly realized they did not receive the powers of the fallen Maiden but rather the huntress who slacked her guard. A very long time passed until it was realized the powers transferred to whichever young woman was in the last thoughts of the Maiden and Maidens lived in perpetual youth until murdered. Men, children, and the elderly are seemingly insufficient hosts for these abilities.”

Above a tall shelf housing torn and tattered texts behind glass doors, a worn woven image of a woman with dark hair seemed to struggle with a hunter in ancient armor. He held a dagger in one hand, her wrist in the other, and the fury in her eyes was apparent through the dim lighting despite her assailant’s success in submission. 

How many were there? How many wanted these gifts? How many saw them as a curse?

Her mind gripped Ozpins’ words and spun them through, calculating the weight of their meaning.

“Which Maiden am I being asked to guard?”

The looming silence between them shook her to her bones. She didn’t quite understand yet, even as she knew the realization must be known by the most visceral and primitive parts of her, and her hands began to shake. Ozpin turned to her, a heaviness in his movements as he clasped the cane in front of him and sought her emerald eyes.

“Ms. Nikos, you are not a guard and you are not being asked. You will be our next Fall Maiden.”


	3. Chapter 3

Qrow paced a rhythm that accompanied Ironwood’s tapping foot as the two men waited a floor above Ozpin’s private rooms. The Office of the Headmaster of Beacon Academy was a grand affair of glass, pendulums, and cogs methodically wheeling overhead. The technology in the room was Atlasian, entirely secure with the latest protocols and emergency lock-outs similar to Ironwood’s own fleet. There were soft sounds of motion all around them but the impatient syncopations of the General and the Crow drowned them out.

“What is taking so long?”

Qrow didn’t bother to pause his strides as he drolled back at the stiff and proper stature of the man near the headmaster’s desk.

“You know Oz and you’ve never known him to make anything easy. Stupid question.”

Ironwood turned slightly to catch Qrow in his peripheral vison, noticing the nearly empty flask in hand as the Hunter continued wearing into the floor. 

“It isn’t like she has a choice in the matter,” Qrow mumbled, swaying slightly as he paused his motion to gaze out on the Academy’s courtyard. Students darted back and forth, taking advantage of free time after study groups and before lights-out in their dormitories. From this height, he could still see the soft glow of scrolls in hand as the youth below went about their evening. The sun had been setting when Ozpin left them to prepare himself for the arrival of Ms. Nikos and Qrow waited until the purple and orange glow across Vale finally faded away before beginning to drink. 

“That is vile,” Ironwood responded, gesturing at Qrow’s limpness as the drunken man swung away from the window and resumed his pattern around the office. 

“It gets me through the night,” Qrow cackled, tossing a wink to the General. “Not all of us have ice princesses to wander home to.” 

Ironwood refused to acknowledge the bait; Specialist Schnee was always one of Qrow’s favorite taunts and any attempts to diffuse his accusatory sneers were met with even worse taste in replies. The misfortune and bad luck the dark-haired Hunter brought upon himself might be pitiful – if you didn’t know him personally – and James Ironwood wasn’t one to pity a man even if they deserved it. Qrow’s penchant for mouthing off and preference for physical combat to intellectual prowess were only two of the multitude of reasons that the icy Headmaster of Atlas Academy mostly ignored the old crow.

The office at Atlas Academy was more spacious, a little more comfortable than Ozpin’s green-cast shadows and odd mish-mash of metallic trinkets and aged wooden talismans, and Ironwood deeply wished to return to his own duties at his own school. He wouldn’t openly question Ozpin’s ways but Beacon Academy never fully seemed controlled or regulated; Ironwood was a man of methodical, structured practice and would never allow such frivolity at Atlas as he saw consistently at Beacon. He didn’t dabble in the primary hunt schools and had no urge to teach those without a basic foundational awareness – a collegiate experience should distance itself from superficiality and foolishness, Ironwood believed, and recognized Beacon’s reputation as second best to the structured practicality at Atlas. Qrow, with all his flaws, made a better instructor than most when it came to shaping students with enough grit to succeed at any school in Vale. When he wasn’t running errands for Ozpin, that was; Qrow Branwen was out of class more often than not, practically a guest lecturer to his own syllabus. 

Qrow, for his impatience, appreciated the time to think without the pressure of response. As Ozpin was down informing the girl of her future, he would likely fail to mention the process and procedures that had been set in place for this unprecedented plan. Ironwood had refused to stand against whatever could work, leaving the jaded Hunter (with a now empty flask) as the only one who had voiced his concerns for the red-haired Huntress. What started as a conversation like any other quickly grew into heated intensity as Qrow firmly placed himself between them and their carefully placed plan.

“We’re moving too fast on one unproven path. If Glinda were here, she’d agree with me!”

Qrow bristled as Ironwood disdainfully looked on. Ozpin’s face had tightened but he calmly picked up his mug before it rattled perilously close to the edge of the desk. The words hung heavy in the air, the accusation it was intended to be cutting deep and calling blood, but Qrow felt no better for berating the flash of guilt from Ozpin. Glinda could have been any one of them and they all knew it; she had gone, they had stayed, and that was the way of it. It was the only time Ironwood lowered his eyes in acquiescence of a statement Qrow had made, a silent agreement that further demonstrated their faith in Ozpin was there but ever so slightly shook following Glinda’s death.

“This must be done. We must try” Ozpin started, turning toward the window and taking a careful sip from his mug before continuing. “One of you won’t and the other cannot. What does that leave us with? Would we trust this to anyone else?”

And that had been the end of the discussion. He would inform the girl, they would wait for the report, and the gears would twist above them while they tapped and paced their impatience. 

 

\-------

 

Pyrrha crept into the bedroom she shared with her teammates, Norah’s snores masking whatever footsteps the red-headed huntress made. She fumbled for her pajamas in the dark, sliding them out from her drawer and leaving the dresser open behind her as she ducked behind the folding screen. Ren was the reason for the screen; living with Norah meant anticipating various states of casual undress whereas her childhood friend preferred a proper amount of privacy. Pyrrha felt she couldn’t get enough privacy at the moment, unfolded and raw after her conversation with the headmaster, and the little amount of security the screen offered was a compromise to her weary mind. 

Numbly, her fingers finished their tasks and, more or less buttoned, Pyrrha slipped to her bed. Ren and Pyrrha slept on what they called the quiet side of their room, Jaune and Norah across from them in the portion of the bedroom where anything went (and often did), and Pyrrha was thankful for the distance from her closest friend. She couldn’t see him in the dark but she knew he slept fitfully from the sounds of his rolling under his covers. He meant well and she enjoyed his company, his laughter, his occasional ineptitude, and the assurance his presence normally brought her. When she was with him, and the rest of their team and classmates, she knew she was at Beacon. She was home.

The sun was beginning to rise – Pyrrha realized this was nearly the time she would be waking up to start her day – and the faint haze drifting over the horizon brought unwelcome light through a crack in the curtains. Tomorrow wasn’t a class day and the hallways would be quieter for longer before becoming louder than usual. Pyrrha never treated their free day as a break in her training and training included a full night’s sleep and a healthy breakfast. She doubted she could change her routine without her teammates noticing, especially Jaune. For now, Pyrrha had more than a second to herself and her thoughts – she could sort through her disbelief and fears until it was time to pretend to wake.

Ozpin had offered her a guest room if she wished to take time away from her team and her good manners quickly halted the indignant retort on her tongue. Why would she want to be away from them? Why wouldn’t she want to spend time with the three closest people in her life? It seemed ridiculous then, an excuse to start Pyrrha’s segregation from the world as she knew it without any delay. Now, feigning sleep with her back to the other three, she understood why the offer had been made with the care and consideration intended. Already, something didn’t feel the same. 

 

\------

 

Ozpin watched the General and the Hunter leave his office, the latter tossing a parting glance over his shoulder at the silver-haired headmaster. There was little interpretation to be had: I’m watching you.

Sunrise struggled through a cloudy morning, the weak orange glow doing little to make the Academy below seem like anything but a sickly stack of brick. This office was one of Ozpin’s creation, built in a night and improved upon over many years. Of the many reasons an addition to the top of the tallest tower was necessary, one selfish pleasure Ozpin took in the design was the illusion of heart. At the center, the core of the school, he could sustain this institution indefinitely. His students were more than pupils in desks – they were the future of Vale, of Remnant – and Ozpin could bear witness to that future.

Qrow always had the last word in a conversation and those words settled under the headmaster’s skin. A lesser man than Ozpin would have squirmed, apologized, falsely reassured the two men that no such thing would happen, not like that, not on his watch. Ozpin was no such man and so stood silently as he was warned:

“You will ruin her.”

A weathered crow flew past his window, shedding onyx feathers, while the Atlasian fleet sailed away on blue ribbons through the steel-grey skies.


	4. Chapter 4

“They’re starting to ask questions,” Pyrrha stated, breaking the extended silence. She shifted uneasily, clutching an arm to her side and tracing the embroidery at the top of her battle gloves. 

“You will have to be more convincing,” the headmaster replied easily, continuing to stare straight ahead at the elevator doors.

The two fell silent once more, their metal chariot continuing down into the depths of the school vaults, gears whirring at the speed of their descent. It had been two days since their evening in Ozpin’s private study, only one restless sleep filled with nightmares of wooden Grimm chasing her; all of the gruesome creatures had owl eyes lit with fire and they pursued her on a fog of green lamplight. She woke shouting, drenched in sweat, and Norah had gripped her hard to shake her before Pyrrha remembered she was in her own bed. It was the first time she had to lie to her friends.

Her lie? A new schedule that focused on shaping Pyrrha’s unique abilities to unlock aura. She would take private lessons in the afternoons and evenings, in addition to her current classwork and without exemption by other activities. The classes would be with visitors to Beacon Academy who arrived with the sole purpose of training her.

“So, you see, I’m fairly nervous,” she explained to Norah between rattling teeth, wiping her palms across the bedsheets. “This is as much a mental challenge as physical – I don’t think I’m ready.”

Norah, with the bright smile and cheery tone Pyrrha expected, set about simultaneously reassuring her classmate how wonderful she’d do while also griping how she wished she had a unique talent that required special attention. Ren had been harder to convince. 

“This doesn’t sound like normal protocol,” he mused, staring at his tea over breakfast that very morning. “Unique training opportunities are not usually indefinite nor at the expense of all leisure.”

“I suppose these guests to the school require assurance I’ll have no distraction, for as long as they choose to stay and teach me,” Pyrrha countered, avoiding any detail she might not keep proper track of later. “An uncommon ability like this must take more time to shape.”

Ren had nodded and acquiesced to Norah’s begging for him to pass her the Pumpkin Pete box so she could solve the puzzles on the back. Pyrrha kept from sighing audibly – she was not someone to lie, not to her friends, but Ozpin had impressed upon her the secrecy she must swear to.

The secret of the Four Maidens had been kept for hundreds of years, perhaps thousands, by hunters and huntresses who had died for that purpose. She was assured only a handful of the most powerful men and women in Remnant knew the tale had any validity whatsoever, just two or three hunters currently tasked with watching over and protecting the current Maidens. Ozpin eluded her questions of who the other Maidens were and would share no details about them. The conversation had become very one-sided, Pyrrha requesting information Ozpin said he could not share but the headmaster not offering much in return. The red-haired huntress fell silent in frustration. 

They had sat in silence for longer than Pyrrha cared to track, Ozpin’s fingers steepled beneath his pointed chin and gaze fixed over the top of his round glasses. She stared back resolutely, waiting. It was not an uncomfortable pause but heavy with a weight Pyrrha wondered at. How carefully he had woven words around her, convincing her to believe a legend without much more proof than a few tapestries. There were questions that pressed at the back of her skull, clambering for attention, to be given life with speech. How long would she live? What powers did the Fall Maiden possess? What happened to her predecessor? Why was she chosen? Who was he to have this authority to declare her a myth rather than a flesh-and-blood woman with innumerable possibilities in her future? 

“You will have your answers in time,” he said, standing from his chair and reaching out to Pyrrha with a firm hand. “I will not keep anything from you that I am allowed to share. I would ask that you trust me in this promise. I also ask the same of you and trust me with your thoughts.”

Pyrrha followed the long line of his fingers to his open palm, creased and not without the signs of old wounds. Some scars continued to the cuff of his jacket, running like rivers to disappear under silver thread and soft velvet. She continued along the angle of his shoulder through the curve of his neck and up to his expectant features. The seriousness of it all was not lost on her but Pyrrha had a flight of fancy that, if she were to take his hand, she would instead be whisked away into a fairy tale rather than accepting what could very well be as much a fantastic lie as an incredible reality.

The fire was dying, the greenish ethereal glow growing into the corners of the room, thinning the shadows hiding both what Pyrrha did and did not know to be watching. Over Ozpin’s bent form, she caught sight of another tapestry: an emerald-eyed woman with arms outstretched as though to encompass the world in their embrace. Pyrrha absorbed the scene in the duration of a heartbeat. Red hair streamed across the landscape and her form was lean and powerful, kindness and mercy in her features. A true goddess. A force that spoke for those who could not speak for themselves. The immensity of infinity, and the infinite chances to change the world, shook the young woman to her core. Had she not already been sitting, she would have had to catch herself. As Pyrrha’s breath stuck in her throat, she looked up at Ozpin and studied the lines around his eyes. He must know what needs to be done, she thought. He must have witnessed this ascension before. She would trust him, she must, and deliberately placed her hand in his. At their touch, he smiled gently.

“This will not be easy,” he warned as she gathered herself to stand, feeling the chill of the room now that the fire had completely died, noting the heat in her fingertips from Ozpin’s palm. 

“If I can help others, do I not have an obligation to try?” 

His hand curled around hers and his smile warmed considerably. 

“You will change the world, Pyrrha Nikos.”

“Beyond your word, how do I know this is all true?” she asked carefully, taking her hand from his at the realization the carved beasts around them were spectators to their pledge. It was foolish but they made her increasingly uneasy, even while she faced one of the most respected and feared hunters in Remnant as he promised her a power beyond his own.

His smile faded, the intensity in his eyes catching her attention as she glanced around the room. He closed another step of distance between them and witnessed her strong posture did not tremble in exhaustion or fear. She stood still, poised, confident in her challenge for proof. Ozpin was prepared for her request and took her hand once more in his. Without a word, he wicked an energy from his cane that Pyrrha could sense even before it traveled to her, Ozpin a conduit for what felt like a blazing fire coursing now through her hand and up her arm. She hardly stifled her scream of pain through her surprise – her aura had no effect in stopping the liquid heat from searing her from the inside out. Before the strange energy could reach her elbow, Ozpin pulled back and abruptly broke the connection. He firmed his stance as Pyrrha staggered and caught herself on the small footstool with fieldmice clambering for her attention. Before she could gasp her question, he answered as though from far underwater, breathless; Pyrrha had a hard time keeping her consciousness and fought the darkness edging in on her vision.

“That was magic, Ms. Nikos. Not Dust but pure magic. The power of the Fall Maiden. We captured her magic as it sought a host, her last thoughts insufficient to pass directly to a young woman known to her. It was with immense effort and great loss that we have contained what we hope is all of what remains of the last Fall Maiden’s powers.”

Ozpin knelt next to her, leaning heavily on his cane, keeping a distance from the darting green eyes that sought him through their lack of sight. The doubts in his heart surfaced as he saw what just a taste had done to them both.

“This is why I will instruct you in how to harness these powers, how to control this magic. It will take far more than our known auras to protect us – even a partial transfer now would kill us both.”

“Ki- Kill us? Kill you? Why would it- Our known auras? What else is there?“ 

“In due time, Ms. Nikos. In due time.”

He stood and waited as Pyrrha fought her nausea and flexed her hand to beat back the tingling as her aura healed the parts of her burned by such immense magic. Her sight gradually returned and she rose unassisted, unwilling to look at Ozpin. The headmaster was casually engaging himself in gazing through prisms on a small table near the settee. Faint spots of focused green light danced across the snarling faces of mahogany wolves as he flipped the long prisms along his fingers, checking every angle before placing them again on the tabletop. 

“You may take a guest room on this floor if you wish for privacy in your reflections. Of course, you will be allowed to return to your team if that is what you wish but I must impress upon you the need for secrecy.”

He gave her a quick glance, accessing her shaking hands, before turning his attention again to the prisms.

“Do not let the sacrifice of dozens of the best hunters and huntresses go to waste because you could not decipher the deeper meaning of what this to all of Remnant. Ensure you are able to freely travel the school and navigate your days without question or concern – we will begin training in two days’ time. Until then, Ms. Nikos.”

 

\------

 

Pyrrha searched her thoughts as the elevator slowed, stopped, and opened to allow Ozpin to lead the way down a long stone corridor. Their footsteps echoed up through the high ceilings, cold grey stone smooth underfoot, and the huntress continued her plucking at her battle gloves as they walked. Steady green electric light lit their way, albeit dimly, and the huntress watched the headmaster’s cane swing back and forth freely with his stride. 

After Pyrrha lost track of how many minutes they had been walking, the doors at the end of the hallway were a welcome sight. Ozpin opened them with a casual twitch of a finger as they approached the wooden cathedral-style double-doors outlined in glyphs. She recognized a handful of them from textbooks as she passed through the archway and it made her even more uneasy; some of them were protective but at least one was actively shielding the immediate vicinity from any who would spy upon them remotely. They glowed a soft blue as Pyrrha assumed Ozpin activated them. The only person she knew at Beacon who could create and manipulate glyphs was Weiss Schnee, a friend from team RWBY, and none of these were familiar from what she had witnessed Weiss cast.

The room they entered was round, very large, and much brighter than the hallway. Blessedly, the light was warm and unremarkable, a welcome change from the green Pyrrha was quickly associating with anxiety and nausea. She didn’t know what she expected but an empty room with the same cold stone floors as the hallway was not necessarily it. 

“You will continue to have access to student training rooms but any sparring with other students will soon be kept to training missions. As you build your strength to accommodate the Fall Maiden’s powers, I will provide you with one-on-one partners able to engage you without harm.”

“To me or them?” Pyrrha quipped, trying to find humor in her current situation. Although she may be deep under the school, in a room protected by unusually specific runes (including one that expressly prohibited entrance to any animal that didn’t have two and exactly two legs), and likely to receive another searing taste of what would become her powers, Pyrrha knew half the battle was attitude alone.

Ozpin stood in the center of the room, golden light dancing across the ornately engraved knuckle guard of his cane, and he gestured for her to stand directly in front of him. She did, firmly planting herself four feet away and taking up her shield. Immediately she knew she was wrong, Ozpin’s mouth twitching as he corrected her.

“No, closer. You will not need your weapons.”

“I thought we were training,” she replied, slightly baffled as she carefully placed her shield and spear on the ground and took two steps forward, red hip scarf swaying in her movements. 

“We are.”

The silver-haired hunter closed the gap in three strides, nearly looking down his aquiline nose at the top of Pyrrha’s head. She had to look up to see his tense expression and immediately looked down again. His tension would do nothing to help her state of mind if she did not hold herself as calmly as she would before a match.

“This vault is deep below the school and heavily guarded for a reason, as much for your protection as mine. Rarely is it necessary to take these precautions when working with aura. Or, aura as we know it.”

Pyrrha focused her attention on the deep green of Ozpin’s shirt, calming her nerves by recalling the soothing scent of pine needles and rich summer foliage in a deep forest. She let his voice carry over her, nearly omnipresent in the odd echo of the round chamber. This was new, like studying from an unfamiliar book, and she assured herself she was a quick learner.

“Of the things we have learned from the Maidens, one is that nearly everyone has potential to unlock and strengthen their aura. Very few have the ability to sustain their aura at a consistent level during extreme exertion, such as expending enough strength to heal mortal wounds without sacrificing ground in heavy battle.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone who can do such a thing,” she said quietly, continuing to mentally wrap herself in the verdant memories of soft grass. She felt this couldn’t be any different than her intuitive process in unlocking the auras of others. It was a skill she realized she naturally had and, with a little trial-and-error, Pyrrha had unlocked the aura of several classmates during her time at Mistral Academy with no harm done. She had helped unlock Jaune’s aura in the forest outside Beacon Academy on one of their first training missions as a team. This may not be much different.

“Only a handful in Remnant can do such a thing, including the Maidens.”

Pyrrha took a step back to fully see Ozpin’s face, gaping open-mouthed. She stammered and Ozpin took her by the arms, pulling her back to him. He let go of her immediately and Pyrrha wondered if she had imagined the tension and worry in his face. 

“This itself is not extraordinary when you have as many years to strengthen your aura as some have had,” he continued, his voice quieting after her interruption. “The unusual part is what is beyond the aural capabilities known to most. The ability to share aura with others, for example, and take from reserved aural energy. Much like aura, we think skills like this must be unlocked by others if one cannot find the path themselves, and all are assumed to require meticulous training.”

She had never heard of any of this before and started to shrink into herself – whatever was next would not be easy. 

“’We’ think? What do you mean-“

“Ms. Nikos, I will need your permission,” Ozpin’s voice nearly whispered over her head, interrupting her increasing nervousness. “As we attempt to find the boundaries of our aura, I will be here to shield you from transcending those barriers too fast.”

“Yes, that is fine,” she stated clearly, wetting her lips and clenching her fists, knowing full well she was unsure of what she was giving permission for. An adrenaline-fueled snippet of rationality was fighting for attention, to alert herself to the foolishness of such an agreement, but the pounding of her heart drowned out all caution. 

“I will not attempt to unlock these abilities, not unless we have run out of time. For now, time is not of consequence. Do you understand?”

“Not entirely, to be honest. Would this be similar to unlocking someone’s aura for the first time?”

A pause as Pyrrha watched Ozpins’s pulse beat under the smooth skin of his neck, directly above the green scarf she now knew so well.

“Not entirely.”

“Have you done this before?”

Another pause and Pyrrha saw the muscles in Ozpin’s neck stiffen slightly.

“Not entirely.”

She leaned her head back ever so slightly to look up at him. His hazel eyes found her and she remembered his request two nights ago: Trust me.

“What do I need to do?”


	5. Chapter 5

Meditation was a practice taught in the primary academies, some hunters and huntresses relying on their aura more than others to produce their Semblance. All Semblances required aura but not everyone needed deep concentration once they became familiar with how their Semblance felt to them and how best to maintain those powers. As training progressed, individuals could focus where they felt their inner strength came from and how to generate it without an instructor’s coaching. 

Everyone meditated differently, Pyrrha’s first primary instructor had told the class as the young students gathered around her in a wide circle. They were sated from lunch and happily worn from exercise and so were able to sit still and focus on their teacher’s voice. Pyrrha remembered this teacher was a kind, matronly woman who wore long tunics that were soft to touch and she always loosely braided her greying hair. She was one of Pyrrha’s favorites, always gentle, and was the best meditation instructor she had ever had. Even the meditation professors at Beacon were not as influential.

No one was to make fun of or judge others for their attempts and practices, the teacher had said, smiling as she turned around the room. As they grew up, they could change how they did this but, for now, they would all close their eyes and focus their minds on their favorite place in the world. Where did they love to be most? What made them happy to be there? 

Imagine you are there all on your own, by yourself, she continued as she winked at those squinting back at her. You are not afraid because this is a safe place and you are the only one there. Ignore everything else except how happy you are. Happiness is the most powerful of emotions, the teacher said as the room of students collectively smiled. Her voice was soothing, calming, and Pyrrha remembered more than one classmate falling into a comfortable sleep. Pyrrha, not one to withhold effort, scrunched her eyes as tight as she could and imagined the forest behind Auntie May’s house.

It was deep and she had never reached the other side of it, as she was expressly forbidden from traveling farther than the riverbed. The river was more of a rocky stream, large flat stones soaking sun and becoming wonderful places to rest after a long walk to get there. Pyrrha would sit with her bounty from the trip there, often interesting leaves or the occasional bug, letting the heat from the stones relax her muscles. Sometimes she would picnic on a very large rock that allowed her to stretch out entirely, even as she grew up and became a young woman, and this was her special resting rock. A hunter guarded the forest from Grimm and Auntie May knew his family; Pyrrha vaguely recalled a long bladed weapon he carried at his side when he’d come to check on them after severe storms or rumored sightings of creatures. She never feared for what may have been in the woods and this was where Pyrrha traveled in her mind when she needed to reconnect with her foundations. 

As the years passed, Pyrrha was skilled and focused, her aura strong and Semblance a comfortable second nature. She rarely had to mentally travel to the woods to hold her meditative state, no amature to recognizing her awareness, but this was the time to surround herself with lush greenery and block out Ozpin and the cold stone room. Far under Beacon Academy, Pyrrha stood and closed her eyes, holding onto the color of Ozpin’s scarf like a good-luck charm as she found herself in Auntie May’s forest.

Pyrrha walked the familiar game trail to the riverbed, ferns and plush grasses tickling her legs, rich sunlight filtering through the treetop canopy. Birds called to each other, swooping occasionally among the thick branches of evergreen and oak. In the distance she could hear the trickling of the river, low for the summer season but still strong. As she entered the clearing and made her way toward the largest rock, marbled with sandy swirls and well-worn at the top from the years of exposure and use, Pyrrha thought she saw a shadow in her peripheral vision, slightly behind her on this side of the river. Deer and other game were plentiful in the forest and animals often ignored Pyrrha for the crisp, clean water or tender plants nearby but this was not the shadow of an animal she knew. Rather, it seemed to her to be a person.

Impossible. There were no unwelcome visitors, no Grimm in these woods, and she stepped easily onto the rock and kneeled comfortably. This is my forest, my home, and nothing is here but myself, she repeated, rolling her shoulders and uncricking her neck. It must be the worries of her mind reconciling themselves as she prepared to focus on her emotions. 

A twig snapped, then a branch shook, then footsteps crunched along the pebbles in the shoreline. Pyrrha scrunched her eyes shut. This had never happened before and was just her mind playing tricks. If she needed to focus, how could she do that when she created imaginary visitors?

At Sanctum Academy in Mistral, the meditation teacher had been firm in her methods. If you relied on a location for your foundation of awareness, you were the only one allowed there. Not your friends, not your crush, not even your family. If you associated the root of your mental energies with a person, you set yourself for unbalance and even failure to advance in your awareness. People, whether or not they meant to, could hurt you or leave you. Loved ones passed on, passionate flames went cold, and friends changed. Don’t even imagine someone who has left this world, the teacher had continued as the class sat behind their desks, some scribbling notes. Then you give them power without boundaries, an open invitation to change who they were in your eyes, potentially becoming someone other than who you remembered in life. This teacher had been so adamant in eliminating dependence on people from the thoughts of her students that she forbid them from meditating together and the scores of anyone caught would be heavily deducted. Nearly all of Pyrrha’s time in meditation at Mistral was alone, either by herself in her dormitory or a private training room.

She had not trained in meditation with someone until she met Lie Ren. His deliberate, studious, and occasionally somber personality clicked with hers. They occasionally sat together in a practice room (always one that faced the gardens rather than the courtyard) and meditated, Ren smiling back if Pyrrha caught him in awareness. They never talked but it was a comfort to know there was someone who could be academically focused without the motive to undermine Pyrrha’s own confidence. Ren confided once that it was much more relaxing to sit near someone who had the focus to continue their meditational groundwork without falling asleep or wandering off to fill their stomach. Pyrrha appreciated the company but didn’t consider Ren as anything more than a presence in the room while she mentally slipped far away to focus entirely on herself.

Now, though, there were footsteps. Pyrrha scrunched her eyes and turned away, resettling on the rock with her back to the unwelcome intrusion. Occasionally, people can bring things with them into their meditative state that needed to be dealt with, one of her professors had said at the very beginning of her first term at Beacon. Like dreams! Ruby shouted, the class rustling at her overenthusiastic lack of contribution to the lesson. Yes, like dreams, the blue-haired professor had agreed, fingers tapping on the top of his desk. If you do not reconcile your fears and worries and doubts, they can manifest if you are not careful enough to keep your meditations ritualistic and free of distraction.

Pyrrha recalled the mahogany wolves from Ozpin’s private study, the reproachful owl peering from the leg of the chair, a dark-haired Maiden struggling with an attacker while onlookers did nothing to help her. She shook out her hair, brushing the strands off her neck and bare shoulders. She stretched once more, a joint cracking near her collarbone, the sunlight soaking into her skin. The huntress focused on the rambling river and imagined the fish swimming there, tiny shells left behind by furry little scavengers full from their mollusk meal, and the moss creeping from the forest in the consistently shady portions of the riverbank. This was hers. She could focus on –

What was it she was supposed to focus on?

Pyrrha’s eyes opened wide. She hadn’t discussed this with Ozpin before disappearing down her wooded path; in all honesty with herself, she didn’t recall how she had started upon the path to the river. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to stand, leave her meditative state with a calm urgency, but a voice stopped her.

“Don’t go,” Ozpin said, stopping several yards downstream from Pyrrha and her resting rock. She spun on her knee, poised to dart into the woods. This was not real, it couldn’t be – this was HER mind. No one had been invited since she shyly asked her primary teacher if she would like to see the caterpillars near the riverbed and that wonderful grey-haired woman had laughed warmly, thanking Pyrrha for her kindness in thinking of her but, no, those were caterpillars to be enjoyed only in Pyrrha’s own thoughts.

“If you’re manifesting in my meditations, I need to talk to the real you when I go back,” she muttered, turning away again and somewhat roughly settling in to force him out of her thoughts. She was distracted, that was why she didn’t properly recall her instructions, and nothing a little more focus couldn’t fix.

“This is not a manifestation of me, Ms. Nikos. I am here as your guest.”

She glanced over her shoulder, recalling prisms and pale green lamplight, banishing those unwelcome things from her conscious recollection. After her Aunt May had nearly died two years ago, her doctors often whispered from the woods at Pyrrha as she tried to meditate. It had taken several weeks to entirely rid her mind of their voices reminding her that her last remaining family member was getting older, old enough for the distinct fear of mortality to seep into Pyrrha’s bones, and the strength Auntie May regained in those weeks had been a catalyst for Pyrrha to reclaim her own peace of mind.

“You would be the first,” she laughed, sorting through her thoughts to better dissipate her illusion of the great and terrible headmaster of Beacon Academy. She was happy to be warm on her rock, pleased at her confidence in the difficult situation she found herself in regarding the myth of the Maidens, uneasy in her role as unwitting participant in whatever strange circumstances created the necessity for her to know this truth.

“Then I am extremely humbled,” his voice drifted to her. She imagined she heard the shift of fabric as he admired his surroundings. 

“If I can’t banish you, I can ignore you,” Pyrrha replied, shaking out her wrists and straightening her posture. “You’re no different than Aunt May’s doctors. Now be quiet.”

After some time, the red-haired huntress smiled and celebrated a small victory in defeating the manifestation of her consciousness. It was quiet, the air occasionally interrupted by the hum of dragonfly wings or phrase of birdsong. She focused on her emotions. Triumphant for reclaiming her peace, she dug deep into that emotion, glowing in the certainty of her capability. She was light, nearly weightless, and tipped her face to the sun to revel further. Humility kept pride at bay but Pyrrha sank into herself like honey into hot tea. Deep, steady breathing tied her to the earth below and she began to tentatively reach toward the unclear concept of the edge of her subconscious mind.

There are things we do not yet know about our different levels of consciousness, once said a guest lecturer in class at Sanctum. He was high-ranking official in the Atlasian army, a professor at Atlas Academy, and stood at perfect attention at the front of the room. Pyrrha remembered him for the same reason everyone remembered him: she had never met such an intimidating person before.

There are places in our mind that our brain keeps from us, he shared in a deep monotone, and those places are where we lose ourselves if we are not careful to respect those limits. We may know how the brain functions but everyone had limitless potential for compartmentalization within their consciousness. At this point in their education, he stressed, they should not tax themselves with exploring their limits but rather setting a foundation for growth. It was dangerous to do otherwise when they had such little experience with meditation manipulation.

One of her classmates did not show up the next morning and, by that afternoon, their teacher shared she had found out the student needed special care after some sort of fit. It was later disclosed that he had pushed his meditation into unsafe practices and spent the evening lost in his own mind. That morning, his parents had found him, trapped in his own head, body motionless – it took several months for trained professionals to help him find his way back out. Their teacher spent the rest of the semester stressing foundations: set a constant way in and a constant way out, create signs for yourself that this is a meditative world and not reality, and never dramatically change those practices.

Pyrrha’s uneasiness grew as she kept getting distracted with her lack of recollection as to the goal of her meditation. She recalled standing in front of Professor Ozpin, so close she could sense his body heat and the light scent of cedarwood or frankincense. They were having a conversation. She remembered looking up at him, almost directly along the line of his jaw and up to the light caught in the warm resin of his eyes. Then the path in the woods, the wildflowers spying out from among tall grasses that swept her wrists as she continued to her river, and the smooth stones she found there. 

She listened for the birdsong that told her she was safe, alone, meditating on her stray emotions and thoughts. It was a short bit from a lullaby her Aunt May would sing to her after the death of her parents. Pyrrha knew the lilting rhythm like the sound of her own heartbeat, an entirely unique and special song that both comforted Pyrrha’s soul and kept her aware of her own meditative state. 

“Why are you still here?”

The red-headed huntress tried to stay calm as she sensed the presence standing over her right shoulder, unwilling to open her eyes to what else may have changed besides the privacy in her very own mind. Perhaps the owl from the study would be sitting in a tree or the fieldmice from the footstool darting across the moss.

“I cannot leave yet.”

She scoffed lightly at this, taking a deeper breath and releasing it in a count of six.

“You can leave at any time. I don’t need to think about you, especially not here, especially not now. Just acknowledging you is more than I should be doing.”

Once, when she was younger and not yet disciplined, Pyrrha let an image of Auntie May manifest in her mediations; her beloved aunt had shouted at her across the river, a basket of freshly picked mushrooms in one arm, several large fish in a basket on the other arm. The mushrooms kept trying to crawl out of their basket, swarming like ants around the woven rim, and the fish were having their own conversation in a language she didn’t understand. She had shouted back and forth with Aunt May until Pyrrha caught the birdsong that told her she was not in her own reality. She had lost grip on her mental state and was no longer meditating but near hallucinating. Pyrrha had resurfaced from her mind with gasps and muscle tremors – she hadn’t shared this with her teacher in Mistral, knowing the reprimand she would have received for allowing herself to stray from safety. Since then, she was a firm practitioner of reconciling her meditative thoughts without the illusion of assistance from others.

“Ms. Nikos, I do not wish to alarm you but you have not conjured an image of me. I am here as much as you are here.”

“Not possible,” she countered immediately, flexing her fingers from their perch atop her crossed legs. To give them something to do, she blindly found the hem of her red hip scarf and ran the fabric past her fingertips, rolling the weave back and forth in contemplation. 

“Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember what it is we are exploring here? The purpose of inviting me into your aural trance?”

“An aural what?”

“The meditative state you are in right now, the one that allows me to join you without damage to our consciousness.”

“Professor, I’ve never heard of whatever it is you’re talking about and I’m disinclined to believe you because you aren’t really here.”

She clenched her eyes shut even tighter as she heard him walk around her resting rock and settle atop, directly across from her. This was too similar, too much like the vault beneath the school where she knew her body stood, and she would soon need to leave this meditation if she hoped to prevent undoing years of deliberate training. 

“Pyrrha Nikos, look at me.”

Slowly, she opened one eye, sighing with exasperation. 

“We need to stop meeting like this. It’s exhausting. And apparently doing a number on my psyche.”

His smile was genuine and the sunlight caught the silver in his hair with a brilliance like fish scales or precious stones. He sat cross-legged, so close their knees almost touched, and Pyrrha continued exploring the stitching in the hip scarf as she wondered aloud, “Aren’t you warm in your velvet?”

“You choose whether I am or not,” he replied with a chuckle.

“I’ve never heard you chuckle before,” she grinned, closing her eye again. 

They sat in silence as Pyrrha let the breeze waft over them, bringing with it the scent of resin; whether it was from the forest or Ozpin, she couldn’t tell and didn’t spend time trying to figure it out. 

“You’re humoring me-“

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s what I thought.”

After a time, she heard his breathing grow rhythmic and felt the direction of the breeze change, tumbling her hair over her shoulder. For a moment, the world around her didn’t seem right, almost dangerously so. Her eyes flashed as she felt the change, muscles stiffening. What had she done? She had never changed her environment in this way during meditation; this was HER forest and allowing Ozpin any sort of presence was altering the scene, much like the awareness of mushrooms to escape their captivity when she tested the roots of her training so long ago.

“You didn’t do anything,” Ozpin said, searching her face and finding her fear. “That was not anything to be worried about.”

“I think we’re done here,” Pyrrha replied. “This was a mistake. I need stop.”

Ozpin didn’t move as Pyrrha stood and looked down at him, strangely prone and defenseless atop her resting rock. He watched silently as she walked along the riverbank to the game trail she had followed. The huntress stalked through the grass, willing herself to breathe deep and release her anger and fear. She would emerge from her meditation slowly, gradually, without shock, and then find Ozpin and demand answers. What happened to the missing time, the chunk of information that led her to meditate to begin with? What was happening in the vault while her consciousness skipped a decade of hard-won discipline and gallivanted with a psychological shadow of the very man that upended her perspectives?

She walked for a very long time, longer than it usually took to slip back into her reality. She fought panic. The Ozpin-illusion had said she was in an aural trance – was this what was causing her legs to fatigue and heart to race? Did she have the wrong trail? Was she lost in the forest? Even as a child, she had never gotten lost in Aunt May’s woods. Why in her own mind would she create twists, turns, and forks in the path?

“Ms. Nikos,” the trees hummed as the sun set through the multitude of trunks and branches becoming increasingly imposing with their lengthening shadows. It was never night here, always sunny, always summer. Now, the wind picked up and grew chill; Pyrrha clutched her arms and shivered as she began to run.

She listened for the birdsong that told her she was safe, in control, but every strange insect that began to bite at her all repeated her name, hissing and stinging and repeating, “Msssssssss Nikosssssssss.”

Finally, she saw a faint light to her left and abandoned the trail, dashing toward the promise of warmth and safety. It called to her: “Pyrrha.”

Her name echoed in her head as she tripped and fell. Instead of hitting hard ground, she continued to fall, blinded and whipped by the winds of her descent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Embrace your cliches. Take no prisoners.

She awoke with a pillow of velvet under her cheek, arms wrapped around herself, and so cold and stiff that she wondered how she would uncurl herself without snapping like a brittle twig. Slowly, the huntress blinked, head pounding at the bright lights in the room without corners. Trying to shield her eyes, she carefully twisted into the soft bundle of fabric, groaning with the effort. She assessed herself, determining her body was more or less in one piece but it hurt to think too much beyond confirming she was alive. Even her teeth hurt and Pyrrha tried to unclench her jaw, sipping air through cracked lips. 

“Breathe deep and open your eyes, Ms. Nikos.”

That voice, the one calling through the shadows of the forest… She carefully opened an eye, relieved the bright lights were reduced to a soft glow and mercifully lacked the green cast that she was learning to despise. The air around her warmed and she forced her lungs to stretch her sore ribcage. And again, then once more, before trying to sit up.

“Not yet,” Ozpin assured, “Soon. Not yet. We have time to recover.”

A hand rested briefly on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down. Pyrrha accepted her complete lack of energy and gratefully lay back, shivering until the warm glow surrounding her seeped into her muscles. It didn’t do much for her head; she felt as though she had a fever despite her chills, every inch of her skull prickling.

“What-“ Her voice creaked and she was surprised how dry her mouth felt. Trying to wet her lips, she found the words she was looking for. Before she could release them, Ozpin explained.

“We took a step, Ms. Nikos. A first step. The next one will be easier.”

He was sitting much as she remembered him sitting on the resting rock near the river in her thoughts, cross-legged but bowed, slumped over himself with fingers trembling. She realized he was creating the warmth around them with a large glyph, nearly as large as one Weiss would manifest during practice, tips of fingers resting against the stone to cast and maintain the symbol for which Pyrrha gave silent thanks.

“We created an aural trance,” he continued, gently shaking his head as though to pull himself from a dream. “A shared consciousness we could both manipulate.”

“Is- is that good?” Pyrrha croaked, refusing to keep her eyes open any longer, the heat of her breath returning to warm the tip of her nose as she buried her face deeper into blessedly soft fabric. Although not as chilled to her bones, the stones below were still extremely hard and immensely unwelcome.

She drifted to sleep, exhausted beyond any experience she had ever had, and missed Ozpin’s smile as he glanced at her through his tousled hair. 

“Yes, Ms. Nikos. Very good indeed.”

 

\-----

 

Pyrrha slept while Ozpin dozed, both finding strength to stand after quite some time down on the stones in the vault. The headmaster collected his crumpled jacket from the ground as Pyrrha combed through her hair with her gloved fingers, both holding collective silence as they taxed the little strength they had regained. They walked slowly down the long hallway, Pyrrha’s joints complaining as though she had aged a hundred years. She didn’t know how old Ozpin was, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she assumed his weariness by the way he leaned on his cane and focused on his footsteps. 

The elevator was dizzying and Pyrrha needed to sit, too sick to feel any embarrassment as Ozpin seemed to come near to collapsing himself on their transit to the top of the tower. He waited before opening the elevator doors and she nodded her readiness when the nausea finally passed and she could tell which direction was up. She allowed him to guide her to a guest room, the fresh scent almost too much and she immediately staggered to open one of the tall windows that looked out across the stars spangled over Beacon Academy. Pyrrha didn’t admire the view of the North courtyard and instead very nearly crawled to a lounging couch, fumbling for the straps on her bracers. In the soft lamplight, the bed looked so soft, so welcoming, and there was a round pitcher of water waiting on a small table nearby. Ozpin gestured at the room on his way to the door.

“You may stay as long as you wish. The water is medicinal and will help your mind heal any fragmented-“

The weariness in the huntress’ eyes was enough to cause him to stop talking and he stepped into the hallway with a nod, closing the vaulted double-doors behind him. She would rest until it was time to return to class, to her team, and some semblance of a normal day. She would be safe here, uninterrupted, and nearby as Ozpin himself required medical attention. Limping back down the hallway toward the elevator, Ozpin took his scroll from the breastpocket of his vest and made a call.

 

\---

 

“So you didn’t break her brain. Great, Oz. You want a clap on the back for that?”

Ozpin stared grimly at the feet propped on his desk, gripping his mug of medicinal tea, regretting ever calling Qrow Branwen.

“Let me be ever so brief, Qrow,” the headmaster sighed. “I would strangle you if I had even an ounce of strength left in me.”

“So now would be the time for a successful assassination?”

The gears overhead clicked gently as cog met cog, starlight twinkling through the huge glass walls of the headmaster’s office; both men kept an eye on the personal Atlasian airship touching down on the landing pad atop a tower in the West wing. For as long as the three had kept their watch on the Maidens, they agreed all reports were to be in-person, not so much as a breath over communications technology. Qrow had made many trips on wings between Atlas and Beacon and the General usually found it easier to come to them rather than arrange his airflight schedule for two guests to the Atlasian fleet. Ozpin’s office was one of the safest places in Remnant and the dark-haired hunter was without a doubt that Ozpin wouldn’t have made it another step without their help.

“You look rough,” Qrow stated, rubbing the stubble on his jaw while pulling his flask from his rumpled overcoat. Ozpin didn’t feel this deserved a response and he stifled a groan as lightning ripped behind his eyes. 

“If we were anywhere else, you wouldn’t have so much as twitched in response to pain,” the hunter said after a full pull off his flask. “I’m flattered.”

Once the General arrived, Ozpin allowed himself to be examined, a psychic prodding as Ironwood poked at what hurt. Before his rise to fame and glory, the stern man had been a doctor in the Atlasian military, specifically treating injuries to energies of the mind; he had been one of the only researchers of aural energy at the time and many were of the opinion it was an unnecessary science. Qrow was silent as Ironwood’s eyes narrowed while he carefully assessed Ozpin’s injuries.

“I will say that you pulled back no later than necessary to prevent irreversible damage, potentially tearing your aura; as it is, you’ve stretched yourself too thin. You need to let go your wards and rest up for a day or two, preferably longer.”

“I cannot allow the school to be put in danger so I can sleep, Ironwood,” Ozpin stated with an edge to his tone. 

“’Cause that’s exactly what ol’ Ironsides was suggesting, Oz,” Qrow quipped, shrugging. “I’ll stay for awhile, hold up some of your securities, keep an eye on things.”

“Yes, your eyesight improves after your third flask,” Ironwood chided, his closest attempt at a joke in ages, brought on by nerves as he rescanned Ozpin’s aura levels for a second check of his initial assessment.

“I can’t help what I’ve seen, James, and it keeps the demons at bay.”

Ironwood glanced over, surprised at Qrow’s sudden sobriety, until the hunter winked and Ozpin tapped his fingers on the desk in warning. 

“As amusing as you both can be, I require a bit more assistance than what you’re providing at the moment.”

The room was chill and Ironwood cleared his throat as Qrow took his feet off the desk.

“I can dispatch Special Operatives to guard key positions here at Beacon for as long as you need, Headmaster.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Ozpin gestured his thanks as he picked up his mug. “Three should be sufficient. Qrow, thank you – please know your efforts are appreciated. I did not anticipate my incapacity.”

“But you were successful,” Qrow offered. “A shared consciousness has never been done… there are easily hundreds of years since the last recorded attempt. You didn’t know it would almost kill you.”

“It wouldn’t have killed him, just driven him mad and overtaxed his neural systems until complete collapse,” Ironwood countered, realizing his lack of tact too late to stop talking.

“Don’t go anywhere else without Winter to stop you from opening your mouth, okay?” Qrow smoothly reversed his path to prop his feet back up on Ozpin’s desk as he caught the scathing expressions of the two men across from him.

“Ironwood, would you please check on Ms. Nikos? If I’m not mistaken, she should be in a deep sleep and healing; I’d like a copy of her aural scans when you’ve completed your assessment, as well.”

The General nodded, returning several of his tools to their hardcase emblazoned with the Atlas Academy crest before placing several pills on Ozpin’s desk in silence. He bid farewell and exchanged a silent request of Qrow as he passed the hunter on his way out of the office: take care of him.

 

\-----

 

Qrow walked alongside Ozpin as the latter leaned heavily on his cane. The hallway was lit with the green glow from sconces on the walls as they passed shaded doorways. Qrow pretended they all hid rooms that contained unknown and innumerable mysteries and, knowing Oz, there may very well be more than a taste of the strange and unknown hidden away in his private quarters. He lost count of the years he had known Ozpin, didn’t care to remember how long he’d been a protector of the Maidens’ secret, and had seen power from the headmaster that Qrow never wanted to see again, but he had never seen Ozpin this immobile, this weakened, from any fight. Whatever had happened, the girl was bound to be in worse shape – they could find another Fall Maiden if she was beyond healing – but there was no one like Ozpin and Qrow feared losing him. It would be the beginning of the end of Remnant if they did.

“You don’t need to follow me like an invalid,” Ozpin offered, stifling a cough. 

“Naw, how else will I know you took your medicine and got into bed without having a fall,” Qrow countered, smiling as Ozpin grumbled good-naturedly. “Besides, how will I ever have found out where your bedroom was? Now I can tuck you in.”

Ozpin’s bedroom was not particularly large and the professor dressed silently in bedclothes as Qrow checked corners, noting the detail of the creatures of Grimm carved into the furniture as he scouted for anything that could pose a threat to someone with a lowered guard. Although Qrow could only guess at what Ozpin kept tucked away in the tall bookshelves and nooks, that was what worried him: his best guess was likely inadequate.

“Nothing in here will seize its chance on you, will it? Anything I’ve missed?”

“You’ll want to take the music box with the hook closings from the second shelf on the right,” Ozpin recalled, sipping from a crystal glass and grimacing at the bitter pills Ironwood left for him. “Oh, and likely the pale blue jar with the wax seal on the top; I don’t know how active its resident is anymore but we’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Qrow obliged, cringing as the music box rattled slightly when he picked it up. Ozpin laid back with a sigh under the rich green coverlet, supported his weary head with soft white pillows, and tried to find his most reassuring words but none came.

“I haven’t let down the guard on the school in more than three dozen years, Qrow,” he whispered. “I need you to keep these walls safe, my friend, and Beacon must continue in my absence.” 

“It’s only until you’re rested up, Oz. No problem. You’ll be back on your feet in no time, telling me to get the hell off your campus.”

Qrow found himself needing to strengthen his voice, pitch it lower to hide the tremble. Placing the gruesome containers of potentially lethal whatevers near the door, Qrow came to lean against one of the ornate bedposts, rolling his eyes up at the snarling Grimm winding their way along the dark wood.

“Where in the world did you find these things? They’ve gotta make for pleasant dreams.”

“They’re a reminder,” Ozpin’s breath rattled and he coughed again, waving Qrow away when the hunter made a motion for the crystal cup of water.

“Don’t tell me the rest, Oz. I don’t want to know, I’ve decided. They’d give me nightmares.”

Qrow smirked and patted the end of the bedcovers in an unusual gesture of friendship before turning to leave.

“We’ll all be here when you wake. Just fix yourself up, you hear?”

“Wait…”

Ozpin’s gaze locked on Qrow and the hunter was almost startled with their fervency.

“Keep an eye on Ms. Nikos. She’ll be weak-“

“Save it, Ozpin, she’ll be fine. Now shut up and get some rest.”

A corner of the headmaster’s mouth curled as he started to fight the sleeping draught mixed into his cup of water, long fingers twitching against the bedcovers.

Qrow closed the door carefully behind him, balancing the box and jar in the crook of an arm, as Ironwood came from Pyrrha’s room. The lock on her door latched behind him and the hunter knew it to be the huntress’ Semblance, keeping them out as much as it kept her in. Perhaps she knew what was coming, Qrow thought cynically to himself as he gave Ironwood the blue jar.

“Keep this safe. I don’t think I can handle both of them if they got out.”

Ironwood no longer gripped the jar quite as casually, noting the wax seal of an infamous Grimm-hunter who died several centuries ago. He grimaced.

“How’s the girl? Oz was pretty shaken up.”

“She’ll be fine,” Ironwood shared, staring at the door as though he could look right through the wood at the young woman sleeping within. “Ozpin only started to loosen his shield on her near the end, for a short while. I don’t know how he did it but I see similarities in their scans – he was careful to keep her balanced – and her aura is already repairing nicely. Ms. Nikos should be just fine in a day or two.”

The weight of Ozpin’s accomplishment fell heavy on their shoulders as they walked to the elevator.

“So…”

“I wonder if he knows what he has done,” Ironwood mused, Qrow following the General into the elevator as they each clasped a terror in their arms. 

“Sharing soul-space is pretty heady stuff,” the hunter agreed, not meeting the General’s eye. “This challenges everything. He must know.”

As they stepped from the elevator and went their separate ways down the school’s main corridor, Headmaster Ironwood felt a crack of energy pass strike through him, a wave surging over the school like the ocean rushing the beach, and urgency quickened his stride. He met the team of Operatives as their shuttle departed from the private pad they shared with his ship. The General locked eyes with his prize student before Winter Schnee ordered her two subordinates to their stations. He contemplated what Ozpin had accomplished, watching Winter’s uniform-clad form disappear from view as she entered the school; would he share the space where another’s soul resided, more intimate than if he held someone’s heart in his own hands? What if the other didn’t realize the enormity of that action? If they weren’t guards to one of the few sources of true magic in the world, Ironwood decided he would have felt differently. The General powered his shuttle and joined his Operative unit on their way to the fleet waiting on the borders of Atlas, watching for any sign of unrest in Vale with a wary eye.

Qrow felt the roll of Ozpin’s grip loosening on the numerous defenses of his school - many of them had not been released since Ozpin accepted the role of Headmaster of Beacon Academy – and Qrow’s tattered red cloak whipped in the lash that guttered the lamplights illuminating the path from the school to the tangled forest ahead. After he buried the occupied music box in a very, very deep hole very, very far away, he’d return to stand guard in Ozpin’s tower until sunrise. Feathers, darker than the midnight sky above, drifted to rest on the cold stone below.

Winter’s unit stood their ground as Beacon was silenced, the lifeblood slowing in corridors and pooling in atriums, the great gears of Ozpin’s tower slowing their pulse before finally resting with no grand finale but a soft click as the last mechanism whirred its final rotation. Students poked their heads from dormitories, were shushed and sent back to bed where they curled tighter under their covers, dreams curdling in their awareness something felt very wrong but they didn’t know where to begin to wonder. Special Operatives reached as far as they dared into the glyphs and runes written into the stones of the school, grabbing hold of what they could and pulling back what their auras could endure to sustain.

Winter herself glyphed temporary false reassurances, imitations of safety, as she made her way through the Academy, illuminant blue flashing and fading in her wake. The Atlasian soldiers watched the shadows shift along the edges of the school grounds – the Grimm had tasted the air and found it changed in the wake of such power – and every operative carried with them the memory of this night for the rest of their lives.

Far above the rest of the school, as Qrow swooped back into Ozpin’s tower and Winter cast the last ward, Pyrrha awoke with a start. 

Her head was leaden but her body ceased aching sometime between the visit from the tall doctor who had spoken to her class so long ago and the heart-stopping wave of energy that pushed itself from the school with such force that Pyrrha expected the walls to crumble. Indeed, she heard the tap of loose mortar dust roll down the windowpanes and the crisp shift of brick, felt the back-lap of power wash over her and then ebb away. She knew without knowing how she knew: Ozpin.

The huntress sank back into the bed, red hair fanned over feather-down and a thick coverlet of velvet rumpling over her muscular form. She could see him in her mind’s eye, casting some unusual Semblance with a team of his best, his finest, the most powerful hunters and huntresses in Vale. Something wicked was cast back, the school safe once more, and she let that promise of security lull her back to sleep. A note of anxiety traced itself into her dreams as Pyrrha saw him sitting in the armchair in the study, dark creatures wrapping their way up and around his lean form. She was poised to run until he held out his hand to her, firelight blazing in his dark eyes. She poised to accept it, if only to stop the searing pain searching her from the inside out, and the creatures jumped from him and struck her down, down, down…


	7. Chapter 7

Classes continued as usual, rather somber and full of tension, and Beacon Academy attempted a semblance of normal in Professor Ozpin’s absence. The teachers were doing their best to assure students without being patronizing but teams RWBY and JNPR sat together over dinner with a sense of frustration at the lack of information.

“My own sister,” Weiss fumed, flipping her long white ponytail over her shoulder. “She wouldn’t tell me where the Professor was or what was going on, just that everything was taken care of. And that always means it, whatever it is, isn’t taken care of at all.”

“You know very well that she’s a military official,” Blake countered, glancing up from her book and avoiding sticking her elbow in the pudding bowl as she shifted at the table. “She can’t tell you, even if she wanted. Don’t let bother you.”

“We need to find out for ourselves what happened to Professor Ozpin!” 

Pyrrha shied into herself, maintaining her smile but feeling her skin go to goosebumps over the knowledge she couldn’t share. Ruby’s enthusiasm was, as always, endearing and Pyrrha may have agreed with her if she didn’t know Ozpin’s absence was caused by one very long evening very deep below the school. What had he done to himself that she was able to attend class and he was incapacitated enough to necessitate Atlasian troops guarding the school?

“He might just be away on a trip and the guards are for his peace of mind?” Norah offered, scooping a bite off Ren’s plate. “If I wanted to protect something I cared about, it wouldn’t hurt to have a few extra trained hunters and huntresses around.”

“But we’re hunters and huntresses,” Ruby countered, amending her statement after Ren’s raised eyebrow. “Well, mostly trained… We can take on whatever came at this school. Could it be the White Fang?”

Blake closed her book and gathered her school bag, narrowing her eyes.

“If we’re going to entertain the thought of the White Fang attacking Beacon in Ozpin’s absence, I know we’re done talking reason,” she said firmly. “They wouldn’t ever come near the school, even if they knew Ozpin was away. They’re too afraid of him. This is something different.”

Yang touched Blake’s arm reassuringly and Pyrrha wished she had enough space in her heart to reach out to her friends, ask them what was wrong, why Blake was so upset at the suggestion, but she didn’t trust her voice not to crack. She wanted that touch, that comfort, and had purposefully sat at the other end of the table from Jaune to prevent that very thing. He had asked her several times that morning if she felt alright and she knew she couldn’t fool him completely.

“I had a rough training session last night,” she admitted. “It took a lot out of me. I’m fine, just tired.”

Trying to be as upbeat as possible, Pyrrha had smiled and tried to push back the weariness in her muscles to put a spring in her step but the façade was unfamiliar. Her authenticity was shaken and Ozpin had trapped her in an unfortunate truth.

“I’m sure the soldiers will be gone the moment Ozpin is back. We shouldn’t even be as worried as we are,” Yang suggested, dusting crumbs off her jacket. Weiss wouldn’t look up from glaring at her half-eaten dinner, the memory of her stern sister swimming through her mind; Pyrrha watched her friend breathe a quiet sigh and perk herself back up at Ruby bouncing on the bench next to her.

“We should explore!” Ruby suggested, clenching her fists in excitement at the possibility of unraveling the mystery. 

“Not after last night,” Ren shuddered. “I don’t know what that was but I don’t want to find out. I haven’t felt right since.”

Pyrrha nodded in agreement, picking what was left of her pasta with a fork. She had been starving earlier but her stomach clenched at the mention of the power that flickered through Vale and disturbed everything within miles. Her guilt gutted her. She had to find Winter, check if Ozpin was still incapacitated, see if she could do anything to assist – she knew she was responsible for the presence of emergency militia and couldn’t bear the thought of sitting any longer.

“I’m going to go meditate,” Pyrrha announced, quietly taking her plate. “I didn’t sleep well, either. I’ll see you all later.”

Jaune followed her and they bussed their plates in silence, Jaune waiting until they walked out of the dining hall to ask what Pyrrha knew to be burning in the back of his mind.

“You didn’t come back to the dorm last night. Were you okay?”

“I was up most of the night training,” she answered carefully, keeping the edge out of her voice as she grew disgusted at her lie. “I was barely awake when I felt that weird surge and then fell asleep practically standing in the practice room. I woke up early in the morning and came to bed as quietly as I could. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t, Pyrrha, but I’m worried that they’re making you stay up all night, these teachers,” Jaune fretted, keeping pace with the huntress as she led the way to the weapons lockers. “They’re not being very considerate.”

“Training hurts, Jaune,” she said as she leaned on the weapons room door, blocking the entrance and turning to face her friend. “When you take a hit, even when you’re shielded with your aura, it hurts. It teaches you to move faster, think quicker, adapt. That is what happened last night and it’ll happen again, I’m sure of it. These lessons are cruel to be kind and I’ll see the value when I’m stronger, but I can’t tell you how tired I am right now, Jaune.”

“Then why are you going to go practice?” he asked softly, her kindness squeezing her heart. If he touched her like Yang had comforted Blake, she was sure she would weep. “Why not go to bed?”

“I need to find out if I remember the lesson from last night. It was hard-earned. Then I’ll come to join the team,” Pyrrha tried to reassure, a tiny piece of her hoping it wouldn’t work and he would convince her further. She was too good of a liar, too weak of a friend, and Jaune believed her.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, giving her a faint smile. “We’re here for you. See you back at the dorm.”

She smiled back and waited until he walked out of sight before hurrying the opposite way and to the staircase that would take her to the fourth level of the West wing of the school. She had to find Winter and convince the commander to allow her to help or at least share some scrap of information.

As Pyrrha hurried up the stairs, a bird swooped past her, the tips of his wings brushing her hair. She startled as the bird rolled into a dive, a man unfolding himself to one knee. In the lamplight of the staircase, his eyes shone red and Pyrrha knew she should recognize him. The tall man with greying hair and rings across his fingers was familiar – he had been in Ozpin’s company on occasion as she passed from class to class - and Pyrrha stared back at him as he flicked a feather off his shoulder. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he slurred, getting to both feet with a rough stagger. Pyrrha flexed her fingers and took a sharp breath. 

“Who are you, sir?”

“No wonder Oz likes you, all manners and poise,” the man smirked, tattered burgundy cloak catching the wind as he searched the breastpocket of his grey jacket. “I like you better when you’re fighting.”

“I ask again, who are you?”

Pyrrha was losing her calm, the man in front of her trying what little patience she had left for the day. She had felt slightly sick during her classes, trying to focus when all she could think of was the prior evening, and this intruder made the tension worse. She swallowed firmly, willing her dinner to stay down, and walked past the drunken man without a word. 

The huntress only heard him coming because of the rustle in his cloak as he rushed her and Pyrrha blocked his attack, pushing back with her forearms as he sliced an arm towards her left shoulder. She kicked out, swinging for his knees, but he was quicker than she expected for a less than sober man and he took the opportunity to go low and grab her foot. Pyrrha let the motion of his twist carry her to the ground and she used the leverage to pull him off balance, tucking in the leg he held and smashing his cheek with her knee. He was on the defensive as she leapt up and held her stance, shaking. The man lazily wiped his bruising cheek with the back of a hand, grin accompanied by a gruff throaty chuckle.

“You’re Ruby’s uncle,” Pyrrha realized from the rare appearance he made to visit his nieces across the hallway from Team JNPR. She had heard his deep laughter before but this was without mirth as he looked her up and down.

“You fight as well as I remember from watching the Mistral Tournaments. Three time champion, right?”

“Four,” she corrected, frowning. “I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Not important,” he dismissed with his hand.

“You’re delaying me,” Pyrrha said, a hint of exasperation as she turned away and continued up the stairs. A rush of feathers and he blocked her away again, nearly tripping her in the process.

“Yes, I am. The name’s Qrow but feel free to call me whatever you want.”

“You’re obnoxious,” she snapped, her dizziness getting the best of her as she rooted her feet to the stairs to keep from showing her disorientation. 

“Yes, I am,” he smiled charmingly. “Are you impressed?”

Pyrrha took the opportunity to collapse to her knees and vomit on the stairs, shaking as she lost her dinner. Qrow sat next to her and brushed back her hair as Pyrrha furiously shot him a look that very clearly said not to touch. He ignored her and untangled a chain from her headdress before putting his elbows on his knees to wait her out. She trembled and gulped air before the dizziness ebbed slightly.

“I’m surprised you’re up and moving,” Qrow sympathized. Pyrrha waved him off wearily.

“I’m just not feeling well. I was-”

“Training,” Qrow interrupted. “I know. I’ve had more information than you on all this. Oz looked better than you did when he staggered up to his tower last night. Now he’s the one resting while you’re trashing the place.”

The red-haired huntress blushed ever so slightly but had no more energy than to ask, “Is he well?”

“Do you think he’s well?” Qrow snorted, watching her through her cloud of mussed hair blocking her face as she wiped her tear-stained face with a sleeve. “Of course not. He’s got Ironwood’s ice princess stalking the hallways, freezing all fun in her path. The whole place is different and you know it – you can’t tell me you didn’t feel Oz let the wards drop last night?”

“Let- let… Is he dead?” 

Qrow nearly felt sympathy for the stress in her voice as she looked up at him, bright green eyes bloodshot and glassy. 

“No. No, just temporarily incapacitated.”

Pyrrha wiped her face again on her sleeve and started to gag again at the smell of her dinner on the stairs. Qrow stood and offered his hand in silence and she took it to stand heavily on her own feet. 

“You want some answers?”

 

\-------

 

“I need to find Winter and request an assignment, a post, something to do…” she trailed off, clutching one arm tight to her body as they walked the length of the hallway to the secured elevator. She watched Qrow punch a code into the keypad and place his left hand over an imprint in the door. The pattern glowed green and Pyrrha felt her nausea return at the emerald light. They stepped inside and she took a seat on the floor, focusing on a spot on the door as they rocketed towards the top of Beacon Academy.

“Yeah, Ice Queen Schnee is really gonna give you a rank in her little army,” Qrow scoffed, keeping an eye on the sick girl with her legs folded under her and head pressed against the cool metal panel next to her. “You’re in tip-top shape.”

“If I didn’t have to waste my energy on you, I’d feel much better already,” she returned before apologizing. 

“Even with your head splitting and guts coming out your mouth, you’re pleasant and kind,” the hunter took a tone, imitating Pyrrha. “’Sorry, sir, for bothering you but I’m afraid I’m dying. If you would be so kind…’”

“I’m not dying, right?”

The exhaustion in her voice curled Qrow’s mean-spirited humor and he gently said, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Is he?”

“He’s getting better, too.”

They reached the top of the tower and the doors slid open to reveal the calm and cool of the headmaster’s office. Gears clicked overhead methodically and Pyrrha closed her eyes as the fresh air swept over her, sensing the slight scent of pine needles and amber. She inhaled deep and Qrow let her be until she was ready to stand again, this time pulling herself up against the wall and brushing damp strands of fine, fiery hair off her face. She stepped into the office and Qrow followed, cape rustling to announce his presence to the room. A tall, stern man in a crisp white uniform stood from his chair and saluted her, the brisk snap surprising her.

“She’s not her yet,” Qrow drawled, gesturing to a soft chair Pyrrha gratefully took. Her strength had been returning but her head still ached. Class had involved mostly sitting and she had taken as few steps as possible throughout the day; the quick spar with the dusty old crow had soaked away her feeble attempt at wellness and Pyrrha was drained.

“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to turn in her chair to watch Qrow take what looked like a familiar path at a familiar pace around the room. 

“How much did the Headmaster share with you, girl?” 

The stern man looked at her like a bug under glass and Pyrrha bristled.

“My name is Pyrrha Nikos and I would appreciate your respectful use of it instead of your choice of ‘girl,’” she said with as much calm as she could muster. “Were you the man in my room last night?”

Qrow cackled across the distance of the office, his voice bouncing off the glass and metal of the room.

“I am James Ironwood,” he bowed low in introduction, Pyrrha wetting her lips and gripping the sides of the chair with his continually brisk movements. “General of the Atlasian Army and Headmaster of Atlas Academy.”

“Pleased to meet you, General,” Pyrrha whispered, choosing the title she believed would please him most. He afforded her a slight smile in return. “I’d ask you to repeat yourself from earlier, though. What do you mean I am not myself yet?”

The tense silence between the two men in the room was palpable as they locked eyes, Ironwood’s warning realized in full as both declined to answer.

“We’ve decided it would be best for Ozpin to tell you some of the finer details himself,” Qrow finally shared, pulling out his silver flask and tapping the top with his fingers, distracting himself from looking at the huntress in the chair that used to belong to one of their own. “It makes more sense, helps us sleep at night. He’ll be up in a moment.”

She had no idea what he meant and decided not to prod for more, staring at her knees and swaying in time with the metronome beating away in her head. As her heart raced, her pulse beat harder behind her eyes, and Ironwood pulled a silver case from behind Ozpin’s desk.

“I believe you remember this from last night,” he said quietly, handing her a white capsule and pouring a glass of water from an inset nearby. They both ignored Qrow’s clack of his flask against the rings of his fingers as Pyrrha accepted the medicine. She sipped water carefully and studied the gears humming above, the cogs and mechanisms filtering the illuminant orbs and their dim emerald glow.

“Thank you for accepting your role, your destiny,” James Ironwood broke the silence softly, watching Pyrrha as she eased back into her cushioned chair while her pain eased. “You will save us all.”

“I’m not sure what it is you mean,” she admitted, breathing easier than she had in hours. “I don’t know what happened besides that I was stuck in my own head. I remembered what you said, General, when you visited Sanctum while I was a student there. Respecting personal limits. Staying aware you are in meditation rather than a perverted reality. I didn’t know if I could trust what I was experiencing.”

She tried to shake off her despondent tone, pick up her shoulders and smile, but Ironwood shook his head.

“If there were a situation even close to comparable, I would trust Ozpin implicitly,“ Ironwood shared with her, gesturing to Ozpin’s empty chair behind the desk. “He has saved my life several times.”

“That sounds far beyond comparable,” Pyrrha sighed, feeling her muscles relax ever so slightly as the drug took a solid hold. “We aren’t saving lives, General.”

James Ironwood shifted in his seat as Qrow continued his route around the room. 

“Not yet,” the General admitted, “But you will soon have the power to save Remnant and both of you have changed the course of this world.”

“I don’t even know what we did, sir,” Pyrrha stammered, frustrated at the cryptic conversation. “I want to find out what I can’t remember below the vaults from last night, and why I was lost in my own consciousness. Can you please tell me what is going on?”

“I wasn’t there,” Ironwood shrugged a shoulder, crossing a leg and shifting in his chair. “Ozpin hasn’t informed us, either. You’ve guessed by now we’ve had a hand in selecting you as the next Fall Maiden?”

Pyrrha nodded wearily, feeling her body twinge at the soreness her muscles released as she gave herself entirely to the medicine. It was like taking a punch after her aura was depleted, entirely certain some parts were going to take a long time to heal and remind her of the injury long afterwards. 

“One of the reasons you were selected was for your aural balance,” Ironwood began, Qrow pausing his pacing to listen intently behind them. “You know everyone has a unique aura, their very own specific manifestation of their soul. What we’ve learned over many years of study in Atlas is that some auras can complement each other. It isn’t enough that both individuals share a similarity, like a color or meditation technique. The auras need to resonate.”

“Like a chord,” offered Qrow from the shadows. “I don’t know what you know of music but two or more notes create a harmonic.”

“Beautiful idea,” Pyrrha gave a half-hearted smile, her mind slipping through the fog of the painkiller to remember a symphony she heard as a young student, a note from Aunt May’s lullaby, Weiss practicing an aria next door when she thought everyone else was away in training. Pyrrha wasn’t a musician herself but could appreciate the art.

“Well, not always,” Ironwood admitted, raising an eyebrow at Qrow. “Just as there can be a balanced harmony, there can also be discordance. Theoretically, two or even more souls can blend, complement each other, but we’ve also noted unbalance and dissonance between auras.”

“How did you find this out?”

General Ironwood cleared his throat, some semblance of the stern and forbidding man sliding over him like a cloak. 

“Let me guess,” Pyrrha asked, recalling Weiss’ lament over her sister’s seemingly favorite phrase. “Classified?”

“Yes, very much indeed.”

Qrow walked alongside the rounded walls, looking out over the school grounds, and Pyrrha could see him in the corner of her slightly blurred vision. His shadow cast long upon the floor, she wondered how someone so dark and bitter could possibly be related to Ruby.

“When you think about it,” the hunter muttered, “It really is beautiful. And terrifying. When your soul is your essence of everything you are, sharing that with another in more than symbolism is- “

“-more than we could ever have imagined.”

The Headmaster of Beacon Academy stepped into the room and Pyrrha sat upright from her slightly slumped stupor as the tall man with silver hair smiled at her. Qrow ceased pacing and leaned against a pillar to gauge the hesitancy in the professor’s stride, noting slight nuances in how Ozpin held himself as he walked across the marble floor to his desk. No one but Qrow would have known the signs that the headmaster was still rather fragile and this without reclaiming the wards on the school. The shadows hid the hunter’s crooked smile to see the professor healing well enough. Pyrrha made to stand to greet him, as Ironwood did, but Ozpin gestured for her to remain sitting as he stepped behind his desk and sat in his own curved chair. 

“Ms. Nikos, how pleasant to see you feeling better.”

“Had it not been for the medical attention of General Ironwood, your consultant assured me I would likely be in far worse condition,” she answered, meeting Ozpin’s eye as he steepled his long fingers under his chin in a familiar gesture. His smile had not reached his voice when he had interrupted Qrow and she felt he had arrived just in time to keep her from more answers.

“Indeed, we both are none the worse for wear thanks to James.”

Pyrrha could see the General was rather pleased at Ozpin’s appearance and straightened even taller in his chair. Pyrrha at least had Qrow’s ruffled appearance and liquored ambience to offset her dishelved school uniform, mussed hair, and faint mess-hall aroma about her shoes.

“I admit I’m surprised to hear you attended all your classes today,” Ozpin mused thoughtfully to Pyrrha, who felt rather relieved at the knowledge Ozpin was healing far quicker than she was but still as confused as ever about last night’s training. She muddled through contemplating what to ask in a room with mixed company.

“Qrow has kept close watch since your rise to fame in Mistral,” Ozpin admitted without a hint of apology. “General Ironwood, I believe, argued for your tutelage to include a focus on aura after you demonstrated quite a knack for it at Sanctum Academy.” 

Pyrrha shifted her shoulders so she could peer over her own shoulder more easily at the tall figure lurking across the office, ripped cloak shifting about his knees as he stood perfectly still, looking back at her with those piercing red eyes.

“How long were you watching me?

“Years,” he answered, looking away. “Ozpin sent me to keep an eye on your progress from time to time. You weren’t the only potential Maiden and they all kept me busy. Once Ozpin decided you were the one, the job got easier. You’re not a tough trail to track.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or relieved. Qrow’s scratchy voice barely carried across the room but Pyrrha felt he was too close and turned away, directly catching Ozpin’s gaze as she did.

“Your lost time in the vaults,” Ozpin offered, claiming Pyrrha’s attention, “is a complication. As we find the aural trance familiar, we will regain that lost time. You can be assured, I will share whatever I remember and I know you will remind me, as well, should I be unaware at certain points in our training.”

“You said it was a first step,” Pyrrha wondered, vividly recalling Ozpin’s weary frame as he pulled himself from incapacitation in the school vaults. “We were successful but at what? I don’t remember much after…”

“What do you recall?”

“You were standing close. Or I was. The vault was cold. You were asking me to meditate, to go into my consciousness… I don’t remember what happened between then and finding myself in-“

Pyrrha broke off, already uncertain of how much she needed to share with Ozpin, hesitating in the presence of company. Ozpin silently prompted her and the General allowed her an illusion of privacy by shifting away in his chair to glare at Qrow, who was raptured on every word the huntress said.

“I was in the forest of my childhood home and you were there,” she continued. Ozpin nodded, smiling broader.

“It was well-designed,” he said simply. “You have a solid foundation of training to focus so specifically on what keeps you sane. Go on.”

Not feeling so sane at the moment, Pyrrha thought sharply, knitting her eyebrows together. She didn’t feel all together in control of the conversation, slightly too dull with the pain relief to entirely grasp what was happening. This is how she was going to get her answers? Numbed and off-balance? 

“We had a conversation, I left, and then I became lost in the woods,” Pyrrha shuddered, holding her arms to warm herself at the memory of such chill. “I ran and fell, and continued to fall, until I woke up on the floor. I was cold and exhausted and we left the vaults. I don’t feel much better now than I did then.”

Perhaps, with her admittance of weakness, they’d send her back to her team. She was foolish to think she had a valid argument for Winter to put her to work guarding the school. It squeezed her heart and just a bit of her ego to know she had no idea how wrong she was. Had Qrow not interrupted her search, Pyrrha wondered if the aloof woman would have laughed at her or ignored her. Knowing Weiss Schnee, probably both. You didn’t hit a sparring opponent when they were tapped of aura and Pyrrha wondered what the equivalent was for the current conversation. Now, all she wanted was to leave and not hear what was coming next. 

Ozpin contemplated Pyrrha over the top of his glasses and she wondered if he was discerning whether she was telling the truth. They had agreed, hadn’t they? The ominous carved creatures flashed in her mind, the memory cutting like a machete through the continued drug-induced static. What had Ironwood been saying about auras and resonance? Why did that-

“We shared an aural trance,” Ozpin confirmed, smiling gently at her as the realization dawned across her face. “The amount of energy it took was staggering and particularly dangerous, as such a thing has not been attempted in thousands of years.”

“The approach for successful resonance was purely theoretical until last night,” Ironwood explained briskly. “There was no guarantee it would work and the last attempt ended… poorly, according to records.”

Pyrrha breathed deep, exhaled, gulped down the lump choking her at the back of her throat. She felt her adrenaline surge and gripped the edges of the arms of the chair – she felt as though she had to run and not stop until she had left Beacon Academy far behind. Pyrrha was tempted to ask if it was all a joke but, looking up at Ozpin, she knew better. 

“How does this help me become the Fall Maiden?” 

Qrow shuffled forward to stand behind Pyrrha, the huntress inhaling the bitter scent of liquor that flooded out any remaining scent-memory of wood sap and amber.

“It’s a rather intimate process,” Qrow’s voice rumbled behind her. “Ozpin is the only one strong enough to handle the magic and another person to assist would only add even more confusion. Maybe a chord wasn’t the best example.”

“This may have been better received in a private discussion,” the silver-haired man admitted, his tone quieting. “We were a living voice, if but for a brief moment and at great expense. If we can continue this training as successfully as our first attempt, the belief is-“

Pyrrha wasn’t listening, even though she could hear his voice surrounding her. Intimate? This was far beyond intimacy, beyond friendship, beyond any relationship Pyrrha knew of. This was supernatural, ambiguous, intangible. She felt pinned and cut apart bit by bit by the men around her, an experiment, and she would not let them cut her open to expose (quite literally) her soul. This was too much and, although Pyrrha knew it quite possibly was an overreaction, she had to move and get away from this council of world-breakers.  
“Excuse me, professor, but I need to return to my room,” she excused herself, standing and only swaying slightly as she headed toward the door. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

She pushed the button to open the elevator doors but nothing happened. Pushing at it again, she reached out with her Semblance and the doors slammed open, allowing her to step inside the elevator and avoid looking out at the eyes she knew were staring at her. Pyrrha sighed a breath of relief as the elevator began its descent; they would be foolish to think they could trap her but she wondered at how foolish she was being by running. She never ran from a fight, never interrupted a teacher, never felt sick to her stomach at the thought of an assignment. Professor Ozpin appeared well enough to guard the school once more and she had enough answers to quiet some of the louder questions shouting for resolution. Pyrrha hoped for Ironwood’s potent medication to last long enough to truly fall asleep; maybe she would wake up feeling more like herself. She felt like she was coated in slime, stuck in mud, and a hot shower would have been in order if she wasn’t quite concerned about navigating a bath on her own under this influence.

As the elevator came to rest and Pyrrha stepped out into a classroom corridor, a flurry of feathers aggravated her. She knew who it was and, briefly, thought about smacking him out of the air. 

“Leave me alone!” she snapped, hurrying her pace as the man with the ripped crimson cloak kept up with her long strides. She was tall for her age and gender but Qrow paced her easily. 

“What happened to wanting to help? Wanting your answers?” he snapped back, shoulders pulled forward as he stalked alongside the red-haired huntress. “You were hardly on your feet but so desperate to go find the Atlasians that I thought you maybe did take this all seriously. You’ve proven yourself to be a scared little girl, you know that?”

The schoolgrounds were dark, torches flickering as they passed classrooms and crossed atriums, and Pyrrha doubted she was going to convince the sullen calamity of bad luck and ruffled feathers to leave her unaccompanied on her return to her dormitory.

“Maybe because I am scared,” she admitted, interrupting their expended silence, voice trembling as she put more and more effort into her footsteps. “Do you think Ruby would sit in a room with strangers and let them discuss with her the potential of magic at the cost of what she was? Of her security, her innocence? Her certainty in the world around her? Or would you let her make her own choices?”

“We’re not talking about my family,” Qrow responded, softer this time as they rounded the hallway corners; Pyrrha didn’t know if she had made a point or if shouting this close to the dorms would raise unwanted attention. “We’re talking about you. You’ve accepted this, you’ve agreed. You know you’d intend to use these powers for good, to continue the balance of magic in Remnant, and you could bother to take the time to rest up. Ozpin himself risked so much, including this school, for you to have a chance at this. You thank him by storming off?”

“I’m not without embarrassment, Qrow,” she matched his tone without admitting she felt ashamed by Qrow’s admonishments. “Everything I am, my soul, was manipulated without my full understanding. It feels wrong, unethical. I didn’t anticipate this- this connection. This resonance with another person wasn’t part of what I agreed to. I agreed to train, become stronger, learn how to accept the powers-“

The hunter’s snort got the better of her and she turned to face him, incredulous as she watched him near double with laughter.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I forget how naive you are,” he said as he wiped the grin off his face. “Wait until ol’ Ironsides hears this – he’s forgotten what it’s like to feel anything besides the mild tickle of imminent war. This power isn’t going to decide one day that you’ve done enough kicks and hit the target more often than not with that spear of yours. It won’t give you a grade on how hard you study in class. This is something that Ozpin himself can barely contain. One of our own died to capture this magic, to give Remnant a chance at maintaining the balance that keeps your little friends safe at night. You’re going to stomp your feet like a child and whine how unfair this all seems? Too late.”

Pyrrha glared at him as he insulted her and she felt tears prick her eyes. She would not cry in front of this ridiculous man but, as she turned away, he stopped his bristling and slumped. Ruby was just a little younger than this weary figure standing in front of him, arms curled in on herself as she took deep shuddering breaths. All Pyrrha could do was breathe and keep the sparkles floating around her vision from claiming her.

“It’s between us,” he conceded, a hint of reassurance creeping into his voice. “I didn’t think it would scare you.”

“It isn’t what scares me,” Pyrrha argued, “I’m scared of magic, of holding that power.“

“I get it, I get it,” Qrow replied, hands in his pockets. “You don’t need to explain. I get it and it doesn’t go any farther than us. We don’t know how to transfer the Fall Maiden’s powers but very few things in this world require a commitment not freely given. You and Ozpin need to succeed in this or it’ll cost you your lives. He can’t storm off at the slightest reminder that, no matter what Ironwood calls it, your souls now have ties that bind. You’ve shared that space and it took you both down to the last of your energies. You’ve already shared beyond what you could share without another person and it damn near killed you both. We picked you because we thought you could handle yourself!”

His voice quieted to barely more than a whisper.

“We can’t lose Oz. Not like we lost Glinda.”

She turned to face him, every muscle starting to protest her continued efforts to stand. 

“I’m sorry about your friend…”

She tried to start over, realizing how a man like the one in front of her could become unhappy and haunted. It started like this, losing pieces of yourself to the circumstances around you, the situations you thought you could handle but without the realization of what it would cost. If she was going to succeed in transcending the known limits of magic in the world, it wouldn’t be the same price Qrow paid. She wouldn’t turn into him.

“This feels like something that should be private,” she stated, her stomach churning again even through the strong effects of the medicine. “How you think anyone could handle that information calmly, especially in a room of strangers with such an imbalance of power…”

“I don’t think you’re getting the bigger picture,“ Qrow countered, his face pitted and sharp in the torchlight. “All the power in that room pales in comparison to the power we’re trying to give you, trying to find a way to transfer to you not just with your safety in mind but our own. Everyone at this school, the townspeople of Vale, the entire kingdom, has been put at risk for Ozpin to attempt this connection. You don’t have to be comfortable with it but you do have to understand you’re not the only one with a sacrifice to be made here, a stake in the outcome. You might not get the life you’ve always dreamed of but you’ll still be alive at the end of it.”

A pale pointed face with short dark hair and silver eyes peeked around the corner.

“Uncle Qrow?”

Ruby stared at them both, little hearts dancing across her pajamas as she leaned farther around the corner, and Pyrrha shrunk away at the thought Ruby had been standing there longer than a few moments.

“Why are you shouting at my friend?” Ruby asked, affronted and a little trepiditous. “Why might Pyrrha not be alive? What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” he said, falling into an easy swagger and ruffling his niece’s hair. The youngest huntress at Beacon smiled back but looked unconvinced. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

Ruby glanced back at her teammates leaning out their open door, eagerly anticipating the dramatics to continue.

“Were you walking Pyrrha back from her lesson?”

“Yes, and it was a very insightful conversation on the way back,” Pyrrha offered, trying to smile at her friend. “I wasn’t exactly tuned in tonight, though, and was feeling ill enough that I required an escort.”

“Well, you look like you haven’t slept in days,” Ruby said, gripping Pyrrha’s hand. “You can bunk with us! I know Weiss has plenty of room in the bunk under mine.”

“Hey!” came an indignant cry down the hallway.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Qrow agreed, much to the surprise of everyone listening in. “A little bit of good company at the end of a long day never hurt anyone.”

Ruby tightened her grip on Pyrrha’s hand. The girl was so much shorter than Pyrrha that she practically had to stoop to properly grip back. Qrow raised an eyebrow as the red-haired huntress silently questioned him. 

“What were you expecting after all that?” he said, cryptic as Ruby and her teammates continued to be an unwelcome audience to the end of one of the most uncomfortable and confusing conversations Pyrrha anticipated having in her life.

“He’s got some thinking to do now that you’ve given him your response to the whole matter,” Qrow continued, tossing a glance up at the shadowy tower of Ozpin’s office.

“Pyrrha is the most considerate and kind people I’ve ever met,” Ruby squealed in protest, glaring at her uncle. “Who would Pyrrha turn away from helping?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Qrow smirked, fondly pushing Ruby’s shoulder and noting Pyrrha avoiding his eye.

“You’re too weird, Uncle Qrow,” the young girl said, perpetual mirth in her voice. “Thanks for bringing our friend back. We were starting to think about forming a search party!”

At that, the red-headed huntress followed her silver-eyed friend down the hallway and allowed herself to be warmly embraced by Team RWBY. Yang went across to Pyrrha’s dorm to grab pajamas and wake up the rest of Team JNPR. They all huddled into the small dorm with the perilously balanced bunk beds and had a raucous sleepover. Only Jaune noticed Pyrrha fell asleep still holding her folded pajamas, curled up at the foot of Blake’s bed, within minutes of everyone’s arrival.


	8. Chapter 8

Several days passed, the weather swinging from sunny to chilly but incessantly windy to the point of some students toppling over as they went from class to class. The wind howled through the cracks in windowpanes and teachers found themselves needing to shout through the rattling of glass in metal casings. Anyone with a Semblance that helped block the wearying sound did so and some locked themselves away in the innermost rooms of the school to study, Doctor Oobleck taking the opportunity to study the behavior of students who came up with clever ways of ignoring the wind. Other students, like Norah and Yang, took the opportunity to test the kickback on improvements to their weapons, laughter swept away as they went sailing on the recoil. 

It was turning into an extremely long week and the red-haired huntress had finally woken up that morning feeling somewhat returned to normal. Her head stopped hurting, dinner stayed where it should, and she slept long enough to not yearn for her bed with every spare thought. Almost every spare thought, that was; she kept a careful eye out for Qrow between classes and anxiously anticipated Ozpin would send a message via scroll regarding training but neither appeared. She had normal days, normal classes, even focused on her homework and physical training, but something still didn’t feel normal at all. 

She shook the first time she dared meditate, almost inviting Ren to join her in the training room so she wouldn’t be alone if she couldn’t keep grasp on her thoughts but deciding against it for the unfair burden that would place on her friend to be unknowingly responsible for her comfort. Auntie May’s woods were still there, calm waters swirling around the resting rock, warm sunshine in her mind even as the rain lashed at the practice room windows. She sank into herself and reveled in her privacy. Even though she emerged from her thoughts with a refreshed outlook on her circumstances, Pyrrha’s hands trembled with the effort to keep control on her emotions.

Pyrrha watched an Atlasian sergeant wrap herself tighter in her cloak as she kept watch on a battlement across the courtyard from Pyrrha’s training room. Metal soldiers flanked the cold figure, faint blue lights flickering from the joints of the machines as they scanned the West courtyard. Weiss had shared over breakfast the day before yesterday that Winter’s glyphs made her feel like she was back in Atlas; Winter would reinforce the security on the mansion on occasion, Weiss admitted with pride in her voice. 

“She would cast a glyph outside my rooms to help me feel safer, especially when the Black Fang led riots near the property,” Weiss shared, Ruby rapt as the rest of the table listened casually over their orange juice. “Even though it was enough to know she was the one placing protections over the family, Winter must have understood it was tough to sleep through the sounds of the protestors and she made sure I could rest easier.”

“How special to have someone to keep your family comfortable while the faunus outside begged for equal rights,” Blake said with a frown, pushing the last of her pancakes around on her syrupy plate.

“I was scared,” Weiss responded haughtily, wrinkling her nose. “Before I knew enough to know what was happening, when I was tiny and Winter had just started at Atlas Academy, she would come home during the worst of it and always made sure her strongest glyph was the one outside my bedroom window.”

“I didn’t know you could use Dust like that,” Jaune replied, raising his eyebrows and sympathizing with his crush. “That must take some powerful force of will.”

“It isn’t easy,” Weiss replied, oblivious to the attempt at comfort and returning to thoughts of her sister. “Winter is far more advanced than I am, naturally, and I’m focusing on glyphs that help me in battle. I’ll start learning emotional manipulation soon enough.”

Yang snorted so hard into her milk that everyone had to wipe themselves free of dairy afterwards.

It had felt good to laugh, Pyrrha realizing she hadn’t had a full, side-stitching, belly-aching laugh in weeks. She had stepped much lighter since then, smiling back at her classmates with genuine thrill at the act of being happy. Qrow, for all the frustration he brought her in their short acquaintance (at least, in the short time she knew him), had been right: good company was the remedy for what ailed her. 

She had mediated later in the night on her exercise mat in her dormitory, stretched out on her resting rock while centering her thoughts, forgetting for the first time in days what had happened in Ozpin’s study. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze, leaves gently drifting to graze the riverbed before tumbling into clear waters, wildflowers peering around tall grass to watch the young woman sprawled across the warmth of the flat rock. Pyrrha dipped her fingertips in the river, arm just long enough to tap the taut surface as she lay on her stomach, and she watched the silvery minnows dart in and out of the shadow of her form. She was in control, she was alone, she was herself.

As she buoyed back to her conscious awareness and started getting ready for bed, she could hear Weiss share her homesickness with Ruby and Blake across the hallway. Pyrrha moved to shut the door, keep her friend’s sadness confined to her intended audience, but hesitated when she heard Weiss get teary.

“It feels like home,” she started to cry, and Pyrrha could hear Blake shuffle her booted feet as they all listened to Weiss unload a week’s worth of sadness. “I know Winter’s glyphs. I’d know them anywhere. It isn’t like when my father or brother use Dust in their casting. I can practically hear her glyphs across the school, humming me to sleep, letting me know everything is okay because she’s there.”

As Pyrrha shut the door, she caught the words that haunted her into the night, drove her out of her pajamas and back into her huntress attire, to the practice room she now sat in as she watched the Atlasian sergeant pull the cloak tighter against the wailing wind. 

“She resonates with me.”

 

\-----

 

In the night, Pyrrha awoke with a start. She twitched her fingers, took a deep breath, and rolled to her side with a sigh. Closing her eyes tight, she recalled this same sensation a week ago, an immense power rising from the depths of the earth to create ripples in the fabric of all she knew. She nearly held her breath in anticipation, knowing what was happening without knowing exactly how she knew. It was like a taste long forgotten, a scent familiar in whole but practically unknown while burning, a touch from someone you hadn’t seen in a long time. Pyrrha wished she didn’t anticipate it the way she did but, with a dizzying mix of trepidation and exhilaration, she felt Ozpin retake the wards on Beacon Academy.

Like the deep and certain breath from a musician before the first note in a melody, pressure pulled on Pyrrha’s senses before setting them adrift in the wash of power masterfully controlled. Faint webs of strength stretched their way across the grounds, layering until the air nearly vibrated with their presence, soaring and diving until they found their roots deep within the rock, brick, and glass of the school. She marveled at these connections, the interlacing of authority, knowledge, and sheer determination, hesitant as she reached out with her Semblance to feel the metal around her. It all hummed and she released her Semblance with a startle, smiling faintly as she did so. This was unlikely something she’d ever experience again and Pyrrha reached out again to feel the room around her shudder. The intricacy was unfathomable and she practically felt her teeth clack together with the effort to hold on as the force began to build. Finally, it was too much to hold and she let go reluctantly, her sore synapses warning her she had just regained her health. 

She backed away just in time, Pyrrha realized, as the foundations of the school shook with the force of the power released. Ozpin’s power tightened its grip without hesitancy. Strains of control spoke in their own voices, some deep and rumbling while others whispered in an ethereal pitch, the music of which Pyrrha could never have guessed would be so beautiful. Humbled and not without awe, she focused on the rearrangement of the world around her as her teammates woke.

“What’s going on?!” 

Ruby burst into the room, Yang close behind as Norah and Ren ran to the window. Pyrrha stayed curled, trying to hold the experience like water in cupped hands, feeling the last of the connections thrum through Beacon. She forced herself to allow the memory of amber carried on a warm breeze to flood her thoughts before throwing the covers off to join her team at the window. Repressing and shying away was not something she was going to allow herself to do. Look what that had done when it came to the wooden carvings from Ozpin’s private study? They visited in the least appreciated and most unlikely of times and Pyrrha wasn’t willing to compromise herself like that again.

Pyrrha huddled around the window with her team, watching Weiss dash across the West courtyard in her silvery pajamas, the youngest Schnee running to the eldest daughter in the family for a reunion. Winter’s stern countenance faded as she embraced her sister and Pyrrha saw the last of the protective glyphs drift from the school to meet the vast array of stars above. As Norah cooed and Team RWBY ran from the room as abruptly as they had arrived, Pyrrha looked out over the courtyard and up the sweeping height of the tallest tower to the green glow of the headmaster’s study. It was too far to make out any shape or figure but she knew he was there, not just well enough to resume his responsibilities but as strong as he ever had been.

The huntress watched Winter smile as Weiss practically skipped with her sister on their way back inside and Pyrrha was thankful her friend had some time, however brief, to spend with the sibling she so deeply admired. Before she turned away from the window, however, Pyrrha saw a large dark bird with rumpled feathers soar past and study her with a pale red eye before it continued its rounds across the school. Qrow was checking for any signs of weakness in the wards, ensuring nothing was left to chance, but Pyrrha knew in her heart that Beacon was as it should be. 

 

\------

 

She was in Advanced Awareness of Grimoire Relating to Direct Combat when Winter Schnee came for her. Doctor Oobleck paused his dashing around the classroom only long enough to dismiss Pyrrha and toss a nod to the stiff silhouette in the doorway before he resumed his animated lesson. The young huntress gathered her things and greeted Specialist Schnee with a smile that was not returned.

“You will change and meet me in the North courtyard. We are to begin your refinement on the battlefield, as ordered by General Ironwood.”

Dressed in her uniform of silk, chiffon, and the impenetrable weave of Atlasian military broadcloth, Winter was nearly the epitome of the rigid, inflexible General that Pyrrha recalled in her mind’s eye. Weiss had gloated about Winter’s grades while she was a student at Atlas Academy, studying closely under Headmaster Ironwood himself before being accepted at the highest ranking allowed a first-year Atlastian soldier. Specialists took years to train and Winter not only surpassed all previously held records in drill but commanded her own division. Usually, Weiss shared, the oldest Schnee was on top-secret missions and was a favorite contender to succeed Ironwood himself when the time came. 

Pyrrha dressed carefully, checking her equipment as she laced bracers and tightened grips, clasping her bronze gorget around her neck before taking her Milo and Akouo out to the North courtyard. The red sash drifted from her waist and rippled as she approached Winter, flanked by four Atlasian machines staring sightlessly through Pyrrha and out across the large expanse of stone. Winter’s red brooch shone in the bright afternoon sunlight, competing with the gleam from the slim rapier at the hip of its master, and Pyrrha tried again with a winning smile.

“General Ironwood has assured me you are more than capable in battle with your peers but your Headmaster has requested additional training beyond Beacon Academy’s classrooms,” Winter announced, proper and crisp in her tone. “As your school cannot suffice to instruct you in the intricacies of combat, your lesson today will teach what most students at Atlas have learned by their second year. You will refrain from using your Semblance during these lessons.”

The poised Specialist withdrew her rapier and dismissed her metallic soldiers to stand watch at the edges of the vast stone courtyard. Pyrrha braced herself and nodded her readiness, catching a glimpse of a rumpled crow coming to rest on a window ledge nearby. She swore she heard the bird cackle as Winter stepped forward and sharply rapped the young huntress over the head with the pommel of the rapier.

“Distraction is no way to start a fight,” Winter snapped, sounding exactly like Weiss with the extraction of petulance from her voice. “For shame. Begin again.”

 

\---

 

They fought until Pyrrha’s aura was depleted, Winter finally scratching Pyrrha’s forearm with the dagger in her right hand as she wielded the rapier with her left. The red-haired huntress couldn’t immediately heal her wound and the Atlasian soldier, without a hint of sweat on her brow, turned away to allow Pyrrha to rest against a small fountain in the corner of the courtyard. 

“You’re not as strong in your attacks as I thought you would be,” the Specialist stated after a period of time, gazing out over the forest surrounding the school and clasping her hands behind her back. “You need not worry about hurting me, if that is what holds you back.”

“I had a few days off practice recently. I wasn’t feeling well and thought I was up to task today,” Pyrrha admitted, recalling Weiss’s nearly exact scolding in their first sparring match. It had ended with Weiss conceding within twelve minutes and Pyrrha winning with hardly with a hitch in her breathing. 

“Ridiculous,“ Winter retorted, glancing over her shoulder with a narrowed eye. “You have a choice, do you not? Either you’re well enough to fight or too sick to be in class at all.”

Pyrrha sighed, finding patience as she stretched her muscles. Winter was right but that wasn’t what annoyed Pyrrha at the moment: she was feeling just fine until her aura was diminished almost entirely. Whereas she could normally regain a majority of her strength after a few minutes rest, Pyrrha felt as though her aura levels hadn’t replenished whatsoever in the time she had rested. 

“General Ironwood assures me you face a great challenge that your academic capacity cannot solve,” Winter said coldly, marching along the length of the courtyard to where Pyrrha rested against the cool stones. Specialist Schnee stopped toe to toe with Pyrrha with a click of her boots, bowing over the younger huntress with such chill that the woman beneath her shadow cringed slightly. 

“What did you do, then, when you were sick as a student at Atlas?” 

“If we were too sick to fight, we were sent to the infirmary until we were healed. Any day we were in class was a day we were well enough to challenge others and ourselves to become better. You have a choice. Do you wish to continue or would you rather crawl your way to the sick bed waiting inside?”

Winter’s taunt sparked the intended flame in Pyrrha’s gut and, with a flash, the red-haired huntress was on her feet. Pyrrha knocked Winter back with a shield blow to the chest, striking out with her spear as Winter took her rapier in hand and struck in contratempo. Winter’s silver hair flashed in the sunlight as she spun back, crossing left foot over right as she took measure of length of the courtyard in her strides. As Pyrrha combined a series of blocks with her shield and blows with the flat end of her spear, Winter blocked each of Pyrrha’s strikes and swept out with her leg to knock her opponent off balance. Pyrrha moved with the sweep and rolled back to her feet in time to duck under the flash of Winter’s dagger. 

Weiss was familiar with the necessary defensive and offensive positions when wielding Mertnaster but Winter was a skilled master of her weapons, flowing through each stance and parry. The eldest Schnee fought nothing like her sister and Pyrrha quickly abandoned the idea of anticipating any similarity, facing Winter with little more than reaction. The huntress had usually won battles with her peers because she knew to look for signs her opponent would strike too quick or hold too far back. She was proactive in combat, assessing individual weaknesses on sight rather than assumption. Rarely did she ever lose. She hadn’t fought without her Semblance in years, either. 

Pyrrha found herself on the defense as Winter matched and raised each line of attack Pyrrha attempted; as Winter nearly reached the edge of the courtyard, she smirked.

“First years at Atlas would know better,” she reminded the young huntress before surging forward with a combination of thrusts that startled Pyrrha in their veracity. A shining example of the famed Atlasian Army brutality in battle, Winter wove a wicked dance of flashing blades in what would surely be a lethal combination if intended. Pyrrha danced around a series of thrusts and lashed with her spear to narrowly miss Winter’s coat-tails as the woman casually curled away like smoke.

“Have we reached a stalemate?”

Pyrrha regretted the question immediately. The blur of white and blue closed in around her as Winter cut in and out with such force that Pyrrha had to grip her shield with both hands, abandoning her spear halfway across the courtyard. Finally she saw an opening in Winter’s rhythm and bashed again at the eldest Schnee, knocking back Winter’s left arm and ducking under the strike from the right to catch the Specialist under the chin. Winter flipped with the force of Pyrrha’s blow and the red-haired huntress dashed back for her spear, spinning on her knee and blocking Winter’s savage strike as the Specialist crossed the courtyard in less time than it took Pyrrha to gasp.

“Not even close,” Winter snarled as Pyrrha grimaced, rapier blade drawing ever closer to Pyrrha’s face. Pyrrha could feel the rest of her aura draining, pulling the remainder of her energy with it, and she couldn’t hold the block any longer. With a sharp slap, the rapier slipped across the length of Pyrrha’s spear and caught her in the hand, the protective fabric of her gloves the only thing that didn’t cost her several fingers. 

“If I were allowed to use my Semblance- ” Pyrrha gasped, rubbing her wrist and sitting back hard. She realized she had nothing else to say without sounding like a poor loser and instead sunk her head in defeat. Winter sheathed her weapons and gestured to her metallic guards to resume their formation at her side. 

“General Ironwood has determined you may not use your Semblance in lessons and that is how it will remain. We will continue tomorrow. I suggest you step through your offensive positions.”

Winter entered Beacon Academy with her soldiers and a gaggle of students parted to let her through; Pyrrha stood stiffly and gathered her weapons as classmates glanced at her on their way to and from class. The crow, from his windowsill, cawed at her and she sighed. 

“You don’t have to tell me that didn’t go well,” Pyrrha told him as he cackled.


	9. Chapter 9

She breathed from her core as deeply as she could, feeling the muscles in her neck tighten in protest to her attempt at relaxation. Even though closed eyes, Pyrrha could see the green light illuminating the room around her, flickering along her lids like candlelight. Her skin prickled at the unbidden recollection of mahogany animals and ebony Grimm and she flexed her fingers, feeling the heavily bruised hand strain under the effort.

“We will attempt the connection when you’ve found your balance,” said the man sitting cross-legged in front of her, voice humming through her ears at his proximity. 

The round vault under the school was significantly warmer for her second visit, two large cushions for meditation keeping Pyrrha and Ozpin from the ground, and several more glyphs warded the only entrance to the chamber. It seemed the Headmaster had considered comfort (or at least not freezing half to death on the cold stone) for their second lesson. They had been sitting long enough that Pyrrha felt her joints protest as she shifted her weight, feeling pinpricks in her toes. Usually disciplined, she found herself distracted and could not help but recall that which haunted her most since the evening in Ozpin’s study.

Dark amber eyes over a thin mouth, prisms casting stars across the tapestries of the Maidens, and an unassuming prison for an unimaginable power always at his side. The red-haired huntress had pushed Ozpin from her mind several times the last few weeks, reassuring herself from her resting rock that her meditation was solitary and secure. She ignored the convexities of the nature of the connection between her and the Headmaster of Beacon Academy, focusing on training with her team in the evenings in preparation for her spars with Winter Schnee in the afternoons. She wasn’t yet struggling to keep up in her courses, nor had any additional edge over her classmates in their matches, but was dismayed to receive an alert on her scroll that morning from Professor Ozpin. Pyrrha had to laugh at herself that she was more bothered by the intrusion on her time, an entire evening she had hoped to use to catch up on studies and perhaps meditate, and less bothered about facing Ozpin for the first time since their attended conversation in his tower. 

She had many questions, including whether her poor retention and difficult regeneration of aura had anything to do with what he had called an aural trance, but he had stopped any questions before she had asked. 

“We will have time to discuss anything you wish to know,” he had said kindly but firmly as she met him at the private elevator that would take them to the vaults below. “That time, however, is not now. It is of some urgency that we focus entirely on our lesson.”

And so she found herself on this cushion, trying desperately to keep from thinking about anything from the mundane (did she remember to answer the sixth question on the exam that morning, the one she meant to come back to?) to the existential (if she failed at becoming the Fall Maiden, would she stay who she was or would all of her disappear into oblivion?), and thinking about thinking was exhausting.

As she sighed, she felt Ozpin shift nearer; she thought she imagined his touch at first but then became certain that his knuckles were resting against hers as she balanced her loose fists on her knees. The huntress could almost hear his coaching in her mind, recalling his cautionary declaration at their first lesson regarding their alleged limited timeframe.

“I need more time to find the balance,” Pyrrha said softly, reaching tentatively for his assurance as she settled her thoughts. Like a blanket on a cold winter night, she wrapped and tucked carefully to hide any edge of her that would betray the nervousness at trying this connection again. Rather than finding his touch distracting, she felt appreciation for being anchored before she could drift even farther away.

“You have all the time you need,” he confirmed as she continued to attempt reining her wandering mind. 

Pyrrha realized she was trying to keep track of time and quickly abandoned the notion, relieved to discard that construct and sink deeper into her conscious awareness to where the lines of thought grew blurry and soft. It took longer than usual, far longer, to find the path where her footsteps stirred clouds of dust and grass tickled her thighs. She watched for him, sunlight ambling through the thick treetops and small ferns unfurling their bright green leaves to accept the golden gifts. 

“How kind of you to wait,” Ozpin said behind her, Pyrrha turning to meet his gaze. He walked down the trail easily, avoiding the well-worn rocks and roots jutting up from the path, and came to stand before her. Pyrrha warmed to realize she had been holding her breath and inhaled the deep amber and evergreen scents of the forest. His smile carried to his eyes and she relaxed to know this was as it should be. The only conversation they had on their way down to the vault was Ozpin’s explanation of the tasks ahead of them: normalcy and balance.

“If you believe my presence to be a toxic one, an unwelcome intrusion, then your mind will react to as though faced with an enemy,” he had explained over the whir of gears as they stood apart in the elevator, Pyrrha once again clutching an arm to her side in an open display of uncertainty. “I believe our less than ideal transition from our aural trance was due to your awareness of something being wrong, out of place. We will strive to share that meditative state in a way that is amenable to both our psyches.”

She hadn’t said anything in return, nodding slightly, thoughts racing through her head. If she needed to keep her inner balance to reach a meditative state that would remain solid enough for a lengthy conversation, Pyrrha would need to find patience for the clarification she craved regarding the Fall Maiden. 

Whereas Pyrrha appreciated his closeness in the vault, she silently thanked him for his distance now in the forest as they headed toward the riverbank, Pyrrha leading the way toward rushing waters. The clearing pulled away some of the heady scent that pervaded under the tight canopy of the forest, leaving her nearly light-headed with fresh air.

“This is a marvelous construct,” Ozpin shared, striking casual conversation as they headed toward Pyrrha’s resting rock. “Quite the foundation with which to renew-“

“Don’t talk about it that way,” Pyrrha interrupted, gnawing her lip as she tried to regain a sense of control on the environment around her. As he spoke, the trees had started to lean and the sun took on a slightly greenish cast. “Please.”

This was more than a tool to arrange her thoughts and strengthen her resolve: this was solace, a place Pyrrha loved more than any place she had ever been, Beacon Academy included. To share this space with a man hardly more than a stranger was already difficult but to allow him, even inadvertently, to strip away the illusion was inexcusable. She had been too deep in her medicated state to fully grasp the emotion at the time but she recognized it now as insult, the way Ozpin had described her meditative state. Even if it was meant as a compliment, Pyrrha was fully unconvinced and felt it was almost vulgar to describe her meditational foundations at all. This was a place she had created as a child, nurtured into adolescence, built and improved upon like a beloved weapon. They would need to find another way to communicate regarding her mental constructs.

She gestured to Ozpin to wait as they approached the shoreline and she continued ahead. As Pyrrha left him at the edge of the forest, she felt the rocks slide under her feet the way they should, the sky brightening and water rushing with a comfort she wrapped around her. She made sure things were back to normal after noticing his presence, an alien patina across her awareness, and Pyrrha forced the tension from the world around her. Plants uncurled their tightened leaves, small bugs unfroze from their panicked pause across tree bark, and fox kits poked their head from a nearby den with lessened caution.

The professor waited quietly as the huntress settled upon her rock, watching her trace the stone with her hands and find comfort in their familiar smoothness. Pyrrha heard him approach after a little while, felt his presence once more and impulsively clenched her jaw as the clouds threatened overhead. He paused as though he had startled wild game and let her regain her security. Pyrrha breathed deep and the sun shone brightly once more with no trace of any tree trying to uproot itself to run. She waited until the panic had disappeared from the lump in her throat and she swallowed boldly, willing herself to invite Ozpin to join her. Silently, he sat across from her just as they did in their physical forms beneath the school, and Pyrrha opened her eyes as she pulled back from his encroaching touch.

“Have I given you reason to distrust me?” Ozpin asked quietly, glancing meaningfully to her hands as she slid them off her knees and away from his reaching fingertips.

“I haven’t given myself time to fully contemplate our last conversation,” she admitted, no hesitancy in her voice as she firmly held his gaze. “There was a lot to take in and quite the company with whom to share it with.”

“What may I clarify?”

Pyrrha recalled the dizzying rush of power the night Ozpin resumed responsibility for the wards on the school, remembered the exhaustion that drained her to her bones as she slumped in the elevator on the way back from the vault, and the words woven off the dusty old crow’s tongue as she sat in the green pools of light in Ozpin’s office. She needed more than clarification on more than one thing and all her questions threatened to burst forth at the same time; she created a cooling breeze to pull the flush from her face as she narrowed down her first question.

“Was it the dissonance between our minds that caused our extreme weakness?” Pyrrha asked after a short time of contemplation, choosing to study the difference between the white and silver hairs that wisped across Ozpin’s brow rather than close her eyes again.

“We suffered the physical effects of such a unique union,” he answered quietly, repeating himself from earlier and dedicating his gaze to the peridot stones glimmering from Pyrrha’s headdress. “As we stretch our auras, we will be able to spend more time in a shared consciousness. We both became weak on our grip of reality our first time and spent too long sustaining a tenuous connection. The body seeks to preserve itself when threatened and will use every resource available to sustain itself. I wouldn’t say it was as much dissonance as, perhaps, a response to a new experience.”

“Is that why my aura hasn’t been the same?”

Ozpin remained silent, eyes focused on the gorget around Pyrrha’s throat, and she knew he wouldn’t answer the question no matter how long she waited. She was starting to wonder how much of his refusal to answer some of her questions was because of his perspective on the correct time and place to do so or because sustaining the connection was taking more from him than she previously realized.

“Is there something I can do to help?”

Pyrrha watched the corner of his mouth twitch as he thought how to safely honor her request. The rush of the river flowing around them filled the air and she listened for the birdsong that reminded her she was in her mental construct and not truly in Auntie May’s woods. A heat threatened and her stomach suddenly lurched, as though she had been strenuously practicing under a dozen blazing suns; Pyrrha stripped off her protective gloves, peeling them away hastily to toss them at the edge of the rock. She saw Ozpin’s eyes flicker briefly to the blackened bruise engulfing her left hand before she returned her attention to the fringe of silver sifting across dark brows.

“This will not be entirely pleasant” Ozpin warned, searching her pale face as he saw her struggle to remain in this moment. “I do apologize for the discomfort.”

“I feel a weight,” Pyrrha realized, rolling her shoulders to shrug off the invisible hand crushing at her neck and again swallowing the lump forming in her throat. She had initially dismissed the tendril of pressure along her spine as an unbidden response to the discussion but realized this was a very real sensation that threatened to distract her from the answers she was finally receiving. 

The heat was intolerable, Pyrrha nearly panting as the strain from fighting the burden placed upon every inch of her back became more than she could bear. Her stomach rolled and lungs threatened to deflate if they had to continue to take another breath of the insupportable air around them. 

“I am shifting a slight amount of the burden of our connection to you,” Ozpin confirmed, holding out his hands to Pyrrha’s clenched fists as she struggled to fight back the anxiety at every level of her consciousness. A sliver of her mind gripped tight to what she knew to be true and Pyrrha slowly tried to reel the panicking portions of her thoughts back to a place of security. It was an overwhelming terror pressing down so hard that Pyrrha bowed until her nose nearly touched the stone. The landscape around them shuddered violently.

Pyrrha clutched his voice to her rather than pushing it away, even as she couldn’t make out a word he was saying. If she rejected this connection, she recalled, it would be a lucky thing to leave their shared connection unscathed. She closed her eyes tight so she didn’t have to see the river start to boil and fish drift to the surface. The trees begin to wilt and diaphanous flashes of color shot through the sky above. A metallic taste flung itself on the breeze and Pyrrha searched for the amber and evergreen to replace it. Her muscles clenched and she dug into the tops of her thighs with her fists, fighting to regain control over the alarm setting in. 

“Take it back,” she whispered, starting to understand the immense energy required to create this connection, much less sustain it. This was why Ozpin had been weaker than she was when they left the vault and now she knew now how this could have killed them.

"Let me help."

Through tightly closed eyes and a grimace pulling her lips tight, Pyrrha nodded. Ozpin slid his hands under her clenched fists, pulling them away from her sides and holding firmly onto her as Pyrrha attempted to regain control of her environment without succumbing to the weight of their connection. The pressure crashed around her and she knew the sky was green with pewter clouds blocking the sun; the air turned cold and she heard the carved wooden creatures creep through the forest towards her vulnerable position on the riverbank. Ozpin’s hands were cool under her flushed skin, long fingers gently rolling back and forth across her palms, creating a rhythm Pyrrha clung to as she took a shaky breath. 

The animals retreated, their carven claws scrambling against flat riverrock in their haste. The air warmed and the trees creaked back once more to their tall, proud stature above the forest floor. Ozpin began to loosen his grip and Pyrrha refused, clutching at his wrists as she gasped for another breath. He tightened his hold on her once more, resuming their steady pattern against her skin. One more breath and the river stopped rolling, fish resuming their swimming and rolled their bellies back under the water to beat against the current with shimmering tails. 

Carefully focusing on the hard-won balance, Pyrrha steadied herself and concentrated on Ozpin’s grip as she fully engaged the new sensation around her. The connection was still a weight but a manageable load rather than crushing burden; she sensed new threads in the fabric of their aural trance, an unfamiliar texture in the land around her. Sweat dripped from her brow and her muscles were shaking but she was in control once more. She sat up straight, relishing her own capacity before meeting Ozpin’s gaze. His hands were suddenly a foreign language on her bare skin and she hesitated pulling back from him after noticing how stiffly he held himself.

“You hold part of the connection,” he conceded to Pyrrha’s triumph, seeming to struggle with his words. Fear crept into her veins and she realized their time on the resting rock was nearly concluded. 

“This is only part? How much am I sustaining?”

They stood wearily, Pyrrha releasing Ozpin’s hands and fetching her gloves from their tentative grip on the side of the resting rock. She pulled them on and felt flushed when she saw Ozpin adjust his velvet jacket; it was such a normal gesture, a common and ordinary thing she hadn’t expected, and Pyrrha wondered if her uneasy embarrassment was obvious as they made their way back to the wooded trail. Ozpin leaned heavily on his cane but it was Pyrrha who needed to accept his offered arm as she slipped on an errant root.

“Not much, admittedly,” Ozpin answered as they walked the worn dirt path at an easy pace. “I still sustain the aural trance and I wouldn’t wish to break the connection by sharing any more than what you already carry. Little by little, each session, we will strengthen your capabilities.”

“This seems very one-sided,” Pyrrha confessed, breathing heavily as her exertion on the trail became a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. She held on tight to the soft sleeve and shivered as a crisp gust of wind sent dead leaves scraping against her back.

“It won’t be for long,” Ozpin replied, less of a guarantee than she hoped his words would bring her. 

The clouds overhead started to press against the treetops, rolling the canopy back and forth above them as grasses whipped at their legs. They pressed on and she had to narrow her eyes against the grit thrown up from the dirt path, sharp prickles against her face as the air around her swirled to take her breath away. She couldn’t get a deep breath and tried to cling tighter to Ozpin’s sleeve as she felt him pulled from her. A network of roots worked their way through the worn path, fracturing the ground beneath her, and Pyrrha couldn’t keep a grip on Ozpin as her foot caught between tumbling rocks falling in from the grasses around her. She gasped for air as the dirt pressed at her, roots seeking the space between her skin and armor to drag her underground without resistance, their pressure wrapping around her chest to make her ache. Function separated from intent and Pyrrha flailed as she sought purchase against the avalanche threatening to bury her alive. She opened her mouth to scream and closed her eyes tight against the darkness overwhelming her –

-and opened them to see the vaulted ceilings shrouded in shadow high above her prone form. 

Reminding herself she wasn’t back under the vaults as she had never left to begin with, Pyrrha felt the pain radiating from her bones and all too familiar nausea threatening to heave her insides outside. She scrambled at her armor, recalling the gravel slicing at her flesh and roots pulling at her bracers and gorget. Pyrrha sought the scrapes from bark under her battle corset, vividly remembering the roots pulling blood to pool against the leather, but the tips of her gloves came away clean. No dirt or blood, nothing but Pyrrha’s dazed wonder how something so real was not physically manifested.

“Professor,” she started before dry-retching as she turned her pounding head to look for Ozpin. Her entire body was chilled and she pressed her hands flat against the stones on either side of her, searching for any hint of a glyph to warm her. The heat of the room before their connection now meant nothing to the ice coursing through her veins. Pyrrha breathed steadily, assuring her flightier thoughts that nothing was going to approach from the din to snare her; although the soft emerald light was sickening, it was familiar and she allowed herself the reprieve as she calmed her trembling muscles. 

Pyrrha had doubted anything could have been more terrifying than falling through the forest floor as the cruel wind bit at her the first time she and Ozpin established the connection but she was unfortunately proven wrong. Being ripped away, pulled beneath the earth without a last gasp or cry, the crush of soil and dead grass as the splintered land claimed her… Pyrrha couldn’t imagine the forest of her childhood memory turning against her so viciously. Her grip on Ozpin hadn’t been enough and she couldn’t decide if he had been hauled from her or had stepped aside to let the woods have her. In her trust of his manipulation of the filament of their minds, she perhaps trusted too much that he wouldn’t leave her if something went terribly awry.

After she was sure everything was going to stay firmly where it should be, despite her guts coiling like snakes around her lungs, she rolled to her side and nearly came nose to nose with the silver-haired headmaster. He was disheveled, glasses askew; Pyrrha could see her faint reflection in the dark lenses as she blinked back surprise and relief. The mental vagueness threatened on her peripheral awareness, a rolling fog seeking to claim her now that Pyrrha had her proof she wasn’t alone. 

His breathing was steady but, even as Pyrrha summoned enough strength to raise her arm to shakily push at his shoulder, he seemed entirely unconscious. Not even an eyelash shifted as the light of the room flickered across his pale skin and Pyrrha pled with her greying vision to allow her enough time to attempt a glyph that could beat back the wintry chill of the vault. Quickly, she realized her ambition was an overreach for her exhaustion as the feeble glyph she managed under her gloved palm with a grain of Dust from her beltpack disappeared under the influence of the wards protecting the room. The invisible coils wrapping around her ribs tightened painfully as she shifted as close as she could into the black velvet of Ozpin’s jacket and, curling tight into herself as much as she could, she let the miasma of sleep claim her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly well given up any attempt at quality of dialog or editing. Long chapter is long.

Pyrrha awoke three feet off the ground, hovering precariously over the glyphs that kept her aloft, and cried out as she reached for anything that could give her a sense of what was up or down. The soft white flaring in her vision was disorienting as she felt arms catch her and she gripped the now familiar cloth of Ozpin’s jacket as the glpyhs faded away to leave them in the near dark of a long hallway. Instead of cold stone and cathedral ceilings, this was a corridor lined with wooden panels and glimmering picture frames housing oil portraits.

She recognized Ozpin’s private rooms and, as relieved as she was to know she was no longer deep under the school, she dreaded a fire flickering over the strange ornaments that haunted her spare thoughts. Pyrrha swung a leg from Ozpin’s grip and touched her toes to the ground tentatively, the pale hunter guiding Pyrrha’s shoulders until she felt the floor firmly beneath her feet without swaying with the pulse throbbing through her head. Although she was still miserable, this was far better than last time; if Ozpin was well enough to cast glpyhs without requiring immediate rest, she doubted she should worry. They continued down the hallway, Pyrrha leaning on Ozpin’s arm and the professor resting heavily on his cane with each step.

“Please feel free to rejuvenate yourself before joining me in my study for a continuation of our lesson,” Ozpin announced with a trace of formality in his invitation as he left Pyrrha at the fifth door on the right. She nodded wearily and entered what was quickly becoming a familiar room at Beacon Academy, closing the tall door with a satisfying finality to Ozpin’s presence.

She glanced around the living quarters, noting the empty fireplace and plush chairs meant for relaxation. Moonlight streamed through the grand windows, casting long shadows across the thick rugs covering polished stone. There were tall shelves that appeared at first look to only contain books, although Pyrrha made a note to confirm that before taking to the plush bedding of green velvet and white linens.

With a faint blush, she pushed the gleam of silver threads out of her mind as she threw back the coverlet and tossed decorative pillows at the end of the massive mattress. More lost time to account for, more glyphwork she had never encountered, more questions raised than answered… Pyrrha sipped medicated water from a crystal cup, finishing the glass while stripping off the armor that clung to her clammy skin. She checked every piece for signs of damage, perhaps scrapes from rough bark or pitting in the leather from sharp stones, but nothing was amiss from their usual signs of wear. She placed her armor carefully to dry across the lounging couch, set her headdress on the bedside stand, and poured another glass of medicinal water before correctly guessing the small doorway to the left of the bed contained a bathing room.

Hot water streamed over her aching muscles and Pyrrha wearily pulled her hair from its tie, letting the water soak through the thick layers of flame-red to drip from the ends. She leaned her head against the crook of her elbow, willing herself not to fall asleep standing as the steam provided smothering relief, her breathing easing as even the marrow in her bones warmed from the heat. Soap, tangy with grasses and ripe berries, helped Pyrrha assess her potential damages; the huntress still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t battered by the roots that pulled her deep into the dry, chill dirt.

“It was all in your head,” she reminded herself, flexing the hand Winter had seized with her rapier. The skin was still blackened with bruises and muscles taught beneath the blood-burst skin – the cost of depleting one’s aura was high and Pyrrha was thankful for the quality of her battle gear. If she were going to find herself unconscious in the cold stone vaults anytime in the future, she’d consider bringing her winter cloak.

Reluctantly, Pyrrha dressed in the only items she could find in the wardrobe. The long silk nightgown was fit for a fine guest but reminded Pyrrha strongly of a filmy dress she saw at a ball in Mistral and the attention it had brought the wearer. She wrapped a soft bathrobe across her, appreciating the plain and reasonable fabric that warmed her even as it brushed the tops of her feet. Several sizes too large, she tied it firmly and curled her hands into the sleeves before glancing out the window. An hour or two to dawn, at most, and the stars twinkled merrily in the inky firmament as Pyrrha wondered if she had time to sleep before meeting Ozpin to finish their lesson.

“Seemed fairly well finished to me,” she muttered in contemplation, watching the forest surrounding the school as it swayed in a gentle breeze. The land was bathed in moonlight, no sign of cracking foundations or unruly roots grasping above the ground, and Pyrrha was tracing a windowpane with the tip of a finger when she heard a faint knock at the door. She wrung out her wet hair on the way across the room and nearly slipped in a puddle she had left earlier on the polished stone, her bones jolting painfully as she caught herself on the bedframe. There was no way she was going to agree to do anything but sleep, preferably in her own bed after all, and she opened the door to ask Ozpin to leave.

“Please allow me to escort you,” he smiled, his cane tucked under an arm as he held two steaming mugs of what smelled like hot chocolate. “Unless you’d like to remain by your fire.”

His shining eyes were nearly youthful, folded glasses peeking above the breastpocket of his robe, and he was vibrant when Pyrrha felt very bland indeed. Pyrrha looked him up and down in amusement, swallowing the request to beg off and return to her dormitory at the promise of a hot drink.

“I haven’t got a fire going,” she said as she opened the door wider to allow him entrance, “But I’ll accept your offer to join me here.”

She accepted the mug and closed the door behind him as Ozpin made a gesture at the fireplace to send bouncing flames crackling their heat across the cushioned chairs. He sat on the edge of one, slippered feet flat against the worn rug between them as Pyrrha settled back into the second chair. The indulgent furniture was supportive of her weary frame as she pulled her toes up into the folds of her bathrobe, hands gripping her hot chocolate.

“The carved creatures in your study frighten me.”

“Most guests do not notice them but many who do are discomforted,” Ozpin admitted, watching the flames over the rim of his mug, placing his cane firmly at his side to lean against the arm of his chair. “I sensed you were uneasy about my study and wondered what specifically alarmed you.”

Pyrrha sensed a trick in his statement and thought carefully about her response.

“Many things set me on edge that evening,” she replied. “You do not seem uneasy here, though, with the company you keep so late in the night.”

Ozpin smiled over his cup of cocoa, a disarming and boyish grin catching Pyrrha’s surprise. She was expecting a firm and proper retort about lessons and perhaps even an apology at the appearance of impropriety but Ozpin seemed absolutely delighted through the weariness he deliberately allowed to cross his features.

“You’ll find no trouble from this old man,” he said with a hint of a laugh. Pyrrha felt herself blush.

“I didn’t mean-“

“That’s fine,” he interrupted her, continuing his smile without a hint of mockery as he glanced at her before returning his focus to the fire. “You did mean and that is more than fine. I’m afraid I’ve made an assumption about your understanding as to the nature of our connection.”

Anxiety flared in Pyrrha’s chest as she rapidly sifted through her memory of the night in the Headmaster’s study, Qrow’s presence ghosting behind her in her armchair as she recalled his words for not the first time.

“An intimate process,” Ozpin echoed, pulling the thought from her head and giving it wings to flutter nervously in Pyrrha’s stomach.

Pyrrha resigned herself to the conversation, tucking the folds of her bathrobe tighter across her toes as the fire suddenly did nothing whatsoever to light enough of the room for her comfort; she imagined the creatures lurking as shadows grew longer. She avoided his eyes, starring down into her mug before realizing how potentially juvenile it looked and sought anything in her line of sight that wouldn’t betray the embarrassment creeping through every inch of her.

“Pyrrha,” Ozpin started and the red-haired huntress realized it was one of the first times she had ever heard him deliberately address her by her first name.

“Qrow laughed at me,” she shared shakily, interrupting him to prevent whatever he was about to share from having their own words. “Called me naive. He was right. I was upset that I didn’t realize what might be asked of me.”

“Let me clarify,” he said, voice cool and calm. She wished so desperately to be deliberate, casual, anything but what she currently was.

“It is immensely important to clarify,” he started again, sensing Pyrrha’s distraction as she gripped her mug and tucked her toes into the cushion of the armchair. “I am not asking anything of you. You’ve already given your full consent to become the Fall Maiden through whatever means necessary and we’ve found that path quicker than I ever imagined we would. We’ve formed a connection, twice now, that requires our souls to share the same space, our auras to blend in a harmony Remnant has never heard before.”

Pyrrha listened carefully to his words but knew some part of her exhausted mind was catching into something the rest of her was missing completely. He watched her intently as she worked through the information like a puzzle.

“This isn’t sending or receiving a singular thought,” he continued, ensuring there was no mistaking his message. “This is not an external reality we occupy as individuals on our whims. This is far beyond a connection rooted in desires of the flesh. We can never hope for you to inherit the powers that we hold in trust if you and I cannot stabilize the resonance we create as one.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to not tell me this?”

Ozpin’s face fell somber, serious, finally the reaction Pyrrha expected of this conversation. Firelight danced across his silver hair, shone on the rims of his tucked-away glasses, and Pyrrha’s face lit in shame with a heat far beyond any fire.

“It would be immoral,” he said with a hint of disbelief and sorrow in his voice. “It would be one of the vilest things I could bring upon anyone, especially one who trusted me with their soul. No, Ms. Nikos, it would be much worse to hide from you that we have shared an intimacy that surpasses anything shared by a friend or lover known to our world.”

Pyrrha let out a shaky breath, still not quite feeling the weight she knew she should feel with the impact of his words. Where a mountain should be placed on her shoulders with this knowledge, she felt a numbness in her hands that only came from holding her mug too tight. She wondered how much she should share of her thoughts as they started to flicker behind her eyes in lightning quick succession.

“You can share anything with me,” Ozpin assured, and Pyrrha knew the expression on her face must be begging for release.

“The inadvertent attentions I received for being a good student, a good fighter, were stifling,” she hesitantly said with the awareness she had never said the words aloud or fully understood their implications until now. “I didn’t have any true friends growing up. They either grew jealous and abandoned me or were never my friends to begin with. Before arriving here, I didn’t know what a friend was, only what one ought to be, and I sought to be those things for my teammates with every fiber of will. I never realized it would come naturally until I met Norah, and Ren, and Jaune.”

At recalling Jaune’s clumsy affections, she smiled into her mug of cocoa and forced herself to take a soothing sip. She had never tried to lead him on, was only ever supportive and worked hard with him to make him a better student, but knew his interests were beyond her own fondness of him. With the weight of Ozpins words starting to settle over her heart, she looked up to find his gaze, seeking the future in his dark eyes.

“I’ve rarely given thought to a lover, so focused on what friendship might actually be that, when I found it, I’ve spent this time at Beacon trying to keep it. This is all still far beyond my understanding, I admit, and don’t know what to do next.”

“What do you feel to be right?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m too exhausted to tell. I couldn’t make a decision right now that I’d feel entirely sure of once I was rested. I do feel ashamed, however, for not having an entirely clear grasp on what it means to be a friend or a lover to someone as to put our connection into perspective.”

Ozpin stayed quiet and leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles and staring into the cheery fire. She must have desperation written across her face, a plea to stop the conversation long enough to catch up, and she found she could breathe a little easier after a few minutes. Pyrrha let her attentions wander to the gleam of her armor as it lay across the lounging couch, the forgemaster and craftsmen spending time repairing every piece for an entire week every year in Mistral.

Auntie May had taken her to the finest makers of battle armor in Remnant, traveling an entire day on a fast railway and smiling brightly every time Pyrrha had peeked over at her from her own spot on the platform where she needed to stand very still for measurements. The women bustled around with their tapes and pins, laughing and chattering as they brushed her hair this way and that, asked her to raise and lower arms and legs, marking every inch of her for the armorer and leather craftsmen. She had asked quietly what would happen as she grew older and it took one of the women a second to realize what the young girl was asking.

“Why, dearie, you just come back!”

The women laughed and assured Pyrrha she would become a fine woman with a fine shape as she grew up; the young student, not quite a huntress and not even of age yet to compete in Sanctum’s tournament, had felt teased, wishing not for the first time that she had a mother or older sister to ask questions of. Auntie May was wonderful but Pyrrha knew any question she could ask would be answered with, “You don’t need to know until you’re older.” Even as Pyrrha did get older and returned often the next few years for adjustments to her armor, Auntie May still smiled brightly and answered, “You don’t need to know until you’re older” when Pyrrha asked her what the seamstress had meant one year with a pointed statement to Pyrrha’s appearance. Apparently older meant when Pyrrha was as old as Auntie May herself, she had thought sullenly, convincing herself not to be ashamed when her platemail started to curve with each visit and the leather tooling required consideration to Pyrrha’s form.

Her mind was her greatest tool but her body was just as important when it came to winning a battle. She ate well, exercised daily, fought fiercely, and ignored any remarks the careless chose to make. Pyrrha contemplated the glowing lines of her bracers, the faint shimmer of stones from her headdress across the room, and kept from focusing on her awareness that she had never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, someone to romance and laugh at private jokes with. She rarely felt a twinge of sadness or jealousy as she heard her classmates sneaking across the hallways late at night or giggling from their corners in the library. Rarely.

She placed her mug, half full, on the small table next to her chair and shook out her hair. Still damp, Pyrrha untangled it with her fingers, allowing herself to consider how she might feel about the man in front of her. Powerful? Immensely. Intelligent? Beyond any other she ever had met. But it was hard to see him as a man, even as he sat across from her in a fluffy robe and slippers while sipping hot chocolate. He had called himself old – just how old? Likely old enough to think twice about bedding a student, she thought, sorting through that tangled mess of contemplation. This would be harder to ignore the implications of their aural trance as Pyrrha realized how little experience she had in any aspect of a relationship and how unappealing it must be for him to have this conversation.

“I still feel the need to apologize,” Pyrrha started, realizing Ozpin was staring at her as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I don’t know what for and it seems ridiculous but this also appears to me as an unfair burden on you.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I- I don’t exactly know much about the Fall Maiden’s powers, how they were contained or what it took to get this far in discovering the connection between us was viable,” Pyrrha said, forcing her thoughts to slow down for her words. “I don’t know if it makes this easier or harder to approach our lessons with the understanding that I’m learning just how unprepared I am for all this. You must be immensely patient to tolerate this discussion, considering I might just fail at containing these powers after all this effort.”

Pyrrha pushed her unnecessary apologies and the embarrassment that came with them down to the pit of her stomach, which had now stopped fluttering and started knotting itself over and over again as Ozpin set down his mug and kneeled before her in two strides. He looked up at her and she wondered if she had noticed impatience looking anything like the reverence she felt in his gaze. She dug her hands into the plush of her robe, suddenly and extremely aware of the thin slip underneath, pulling her toes from their hiding spot in the chair cushions as she wondered what to do besides stare deeper into the honeyed amber eyes of the man in front of her. In this moment, he looked more mortal than she could have imagined; Pyrrha noted the frailty of his bones under pale skin, the lines of his nose and jaw temptingly traceable, and she caught her breath as he placed his fingertips on the top of her exposed foot.

“Pyrrha,” he whispered, gauging her reaction to his voice. “When you wield the powers of the Fall Maiden, some will fear you. Some will try to stop you. Others will consider you a goddess and worship at your temples and fall at your feet. No matter who you encounter, I will be here to remind you that you did not fail, that none of this has been or will be a test of patience or trial of tolerance. Let others make those assumptions – there is no time to dedicate your energy to these worries, least of all what you may imagine I think. Ask and I will always be honest, even when it isn’t what you want to hear.”

Ozpin stretched a hand to the ends of Pyrrha’s hair, seeking silent permission and she nodded once before he curled a few strands around his fingers. Overwhelmed, breathing shallowly, Pyrrha forced herself to ask the question she thought she’d never have to speak aloud.

“Will it be easier to claim the Fall Maiden’s powers if we become friends or lovers?”

She saw the argument forming across his features, the pull of promised truth overcoming the push of resistance to answer her question. Dark eyebrows bowed under the fringe of silver-flecked hair, jaw catching the bold orange glow of the fire, and Pyrrha watched his gaze slowly follow the line of her from foot to ear.

“Truly, that is dependent on you,” he answered quietly and Pyrrha knew it to be as honest as he could wrap into something as incapable as words in this moment. “Remember those things are not mutually exclusive and can be stronger together than alone but it would be worse to rush into one or the other if you thought it to be a requirement rather than with a full heart. You need to demonstrate your interest and consent if it is what you feel is best.”

“Wouldn’t I be using you, then? Like a means to an end?

Pyrrha struggled to clear her throat, her mouth drying and lips twitching as she felt her blood flow in various directions and none of it where it could slow her heartbeat. Ozpin smiled, genuine and familiar, and focused on tracing around her ankle with a languid and soothing touch.

“Without diminishing the impact of what it means to carry the powers you will soon be responsible for, absolutely not” he responded, “I believe I am realizing your character, Pyrrha Nikos, and you are not that person to discard another after their use. I will not groom you to a conclusion or encourage your decisions. I will lay boundaries where I firmly consider there to be a danger or limit in regards to these powers and their transference. You determine the rest.”

The huntress recalled the singing stones and immense intensity ringing through the air as the man before her had reclaimed what was his, the melody swirling through her veins as she realized the influence she could lay on the land once she claimed the powers set aside for her. If she could harness this, bend it to her will, Pyrrha couldn’t fathom how many she could help. She could change the course of Remnant, create a new world without suffering and fight the horrors that generations of hunters and huntresses had been unable to eliminate. If there was a way to strengthen the bond that would allow the transfer of these possibilities into reality, what wouldn’t she do?

“This is-“ Pyrrha struggled, tripping over the desert of tongue behind her teeth. “This is plenty to contemplate.”

“We both need to sleep before making any decisions, I agree,” Ozpin recalled, smiling sympathetically as he stood and collected both their mugs. His sudden absence after such close proximity left Pyrrha with a confused sense of perspective, the natural reaction to want him near both a confusion and confirmation in her muddled mind.

Pyrrha found her feet and briskly walked to the tall double doors on numb legs, catching up with Ozpin as he casually crossed the room. Dawn began to glow through the windowpanes to cast pale pinks and golds across their faces. The featherdown bedding called to her and she allowed the various aches and pains to crowd out the fluster she felt thinking of whether or not she wanted to be alone.

“Please stay as long as you’d like and know you are under no obligation to recall or act upon our discussion. We will continue our lessons tomorrow. Or, as it appears the world around us is waking,” he smiled broadly again, “this evening, as it were.”

She opened the door to let him slip through and he left silently, Pyrrha leaning against the polished oak with a sigh. Using her Semblance, she manipulated the lock with a firm snick. Her hair was fuzz, skin dry and itchy, and she suddenly felt smothered in the folds of the bathrobe. As she tossed it across her chair at the fireplace, she picked up the poker to allow the flames to starve themselves out –

-and saw Ozpin’s cane leaning against his chair.

Pyrrha could only deduce he had left it on purpose, for a reason, as she had never seen him without it. Knowing what it contained, there was no possibility he had forgotten it. She contemplated leaving it there, sending a message via scroll to ask him to come back for it; there wasn’t a chance she was leaving this room without sleep first and possibly another hot shower. She wasn’t entirely sure what day it even was and whether she was about to miss class by resting through the morning. As she wondered what Ozpin was planning on her learning in his absence, Pyrrha checked the shelves for anything that would distract her from a peaceful slumber.

She pulled several from their own rest, some with thick leather bindings with ornate gold leaf and others held together by hardly more than a scrap of cloth and a few hastily sewn threads. A History of Remnant’s Ancient Religions seemed promising, another with Interpretations of Folk Legend partly rubbed away from the cover. As Pyrrha tucked them into the hollow of her elbow, she drew the tapestry curtains across the tall windows to block out the light; after she finished with the last shelf and drew the final curtain over the sliver of sun sneaking past the horizon, Pyrrha had to feel her way carefully to her bed lest she snap a toe on the heavy furniture or catch a foot on the rug. Guessing at the bedstand’s capacity for her reading list, she balanced them with the care she always took for books and climbed into bed.

Her muscles shuddered and nerves sighed as she pulled the soft weight of blankets up to her ears, gripping a large pillow in a muzzy attempt to keep her sore joints from knocking together. With experimental secrecy, she pulled the velvet coverlet over the white sheets to tuck it against her neck, breathing into the fabric. What if she decided she wanted nothing to do with any form of connection beyond the necessary communication required to learn to harness the Fall Maiden’s powers? It would be an education, a unique experience as much as a dissertation or advanced studies course any other Final Year student would have at Beacon Academy. She could approach it clinically, find a center of calm detachment with which to report to General Ironwood and Qrow as though Professor Ozpin were just another instructor for a particularly focused line of study.

But what if it failed? What if she tried but couldn’t keep from allowing her emotions to war with her mind? Wouldn’t that be worse than just letting thing go where they go over what would undoubtedly be years of study even after a successful transfer? An icy pit formed in Pyrrha’s stomach: what if it wasn’t successful? What if they tried, thought they were ready, and something terrible happened to her? Beyond the possibility of perishing, as Ozpin had been clear without expressly stating their mortality was still in consideration during these early stages. What if she lost her mind and was no longer herself? What if she was so wounded in body that she had to limit her possibilities for years and years as she adapted to a new normal? The pit widened to engulf her lungs as Pyrrha contemplated a deep-seated fear she had declined to give attention to since her first meeting with Ozpin: what if she succeeded and was no longer the same? What if she didn’t care about friendship or a partner, becoming a distant and distracted influence on those around her without a connection to them? Before she accepted these powers, shouldn’t she want to experience a physical attraction, a contact so human that she could hardly doubt now that time was slipping away to have even one encounter as one half of a whole?

Her brain rejected the cryptic longings of her heart, refusing to decipher the riddles and considerations until Pyrrha allowed it to rest, and the dread left her as she buried deep into the bedding. As she fell asleep, worn and weary, she thought of the cane across the room and swore she heard a distant whisper before finally drifting into a healing darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here commences the poorest bit of a little somethin'-somethin' I've ever attempted to write, an ending to the chapter that doesn't rely on falling asleep, and Norah as Best Supporting Actress. Now with less proof-reading.
> 
> Side note: I know spelling "Norah" with an "h" is not canon but I like it better this way. Out of all that can and will be wrong in this story, I have no hang-ups about this particular change.

She awoke to a soft trace along her jaw, fingertips tucking clouds of red wisps behind her ear before continuing their journey through the soft strands, tangling slightly and returning to the point of her chin to repeat the path over and over again. A flutter started in her throat and blossomed through her chest, a strange mix of adrenaline and stupor that Pyrrah recognized as an entirely foreign concept to her body until this moment. She savored the thrill and kept her eyes closed tight, hiding from the need for anything beyond touch.

Burying herself deeper in the burrow of warm blankets, she smiled and blindly stretched out a hand, brushing a cool expanse of skin. The fingertips paused in their drift across her ear and guided her hand to rest against the curve of a collarbone, following the length of her arm with a light touch to resume their play in her hair. She learned the curve of bone under skin, where one end came to join a firm shoulder and the other dove into the hollow of a throat; Pyrrha felt more than heard her contented sigh match his as her fingers sought an opening to the soft cotton of the buttoned shirt, fumbling against the topmost resistance to her search for closer still.

Pyrrha followed the length of a shirt collar with her fingers, twisting a lock of hair at the base of his neck. A heartbeat pulsed steadily under her touch, rapid and firm, and Pyrrha smiled. She moved herself a little closer, or perhaps pulled him closer to her, inhaling deeply to relish the scent of pine and amber. Fingers drifted over her bare shoulder, placing the fallen strap of her nightgown back in its place before skimming over the silk as he explored the feel of her ribs. A shock shot through her hips and, before she opened her eyes, she heard his voice-

-and she sat upright in the darkness around her, very much alone.

The scroll by her bedside beeped a protest as Pyrrha flung herself back into the pillows, the huntress confused and slightly miserable. She shook ever so slightly and curled tight under the blankets, absolutely and utterly awake. Trying to forget the caress, Pyrrah didn’t know what felt worse: the fact she dreamed so deeply as to have imagined another in her bed or her disappointment at waking so abruptly.

A wild, dizzying, overwhelming need was not what she planned and it was with a jolt of anxiety that Pyrrha remembered the cane leaning near the fireplace. It was in the room with her, this barely bottled cache of unfathomable ancient power, and she left it lay like another piece of clothing strewn about the bedroom. Poking her head up from among the velvet coverlet and crisp linen sheets, she made out the slim line of a handle, edge glittering in the hint of sunlight fighting for entry under the thick drapes. The huntress leaned over to light a lamp, reaching around the stack of books she had placed there the night before, and allowed her eyes to adjust to the soft glow.

Pyrrah made her way from the tangled sheets to the elegant walking cane, taking it in hand and moving back to the warmth of her bed. Studying it, the silver handle was heavy and ornately engraved, gears and widgets working their way along the sides. They were mechanisms that confirmed her assumption that this was also a capable weapon and she studied the rest of the handle with a discerning eye. She didn’t have the interest in weapons that her friend Ruby had, the girl’s near obsession with her own Cresent Rose a far different relationship than Pyrrha had with her own weapons. Her spear and shield were simple where she needed simplicity, complex where her needs required unique flexibility and weight, and they were a steady part of her regimen. If she missed her Milo and Akouo, even as she treated them more like tools than companions, what part of his mind had Ozpin lost to have left this with her?

Pyrrah flexed her fingers over the polished shaft, noticing the ridges and gouges beneath her fingertips, and admired the fit of the handle over the fine wood. She wondered at how much effort was to be had before she could wield the power within; the huntress considered the pain and shock that came with her first taste of the ancient magic and didn’t dare place possessive intention in her touch. She closed her eyes and listened to the hastening beat of her heart as she held the cane firmly with both hands.

_Can you sense it?_

Her call to Ozpin was faint against the quickening winds that whistled through her ears and tangled her hair. The energies were vast, overwhelming in their call for her attention, and Pyrrha allowed them to sweep her under their promises of truth and answers to every question about the universe she could think of. She saw a figure emerging from a starry pool under a silk-black sky, an oppressive darkness swirling overhead as the form glided through the water towards her. Glimmering slivers of stars spun their way down the smooth arms and full breasts of the woman emerging from the water and Pyrrha felt tears of awe weave their way down her cheeks. This could only be a goddess, one of the Maidens, and the huntress had no offering sufficient for such a celestial being.

The Maiden had pale golden hair, tresses rippling over her form as she came closer, and Pyrrha found herself unable to look away from deep blue eyes. Why would she ever want to look away from those eyes? She would never leave, never think to question, always ready for the bidding of her mistress, and Pyrrha watched the goddess raise a slender arm to beckon with a long finger. A mischievous smile turned cruel as the red-headed woman felt herself pulled away from the glittering shore; try as she might, Pyrrha couldn’t fight grip of hands tugging at her shoulders, ripping her from the winds that howled for her return. The woman’s form retreated back into the waters and Pyrrha moaned for the loss.

She was adrift, lost in the swirl of dark mist, soaring ever closer to the scent of winter forests as a woman’s voice called to her on the notes of an ancient song. Primal, layered in sorrow and jubilance, they sought her with their promise of death and rebirth unending. She wanted to sink back to the shimmering pool, join the goddess in her galactic tide, but she could not control the distance between them as she continued to rise to the surface of her own unique awareness.

Gasping for air as though breaking through an ocean wave, Pyrrha shuddered and dropped the cane, fully returned to her consciousness. She felt empty and insufficient in her limited form. There was a sense of loss, wracking sobs pulled from the deepest part of her, and Pyrrha struggled to form a thought beyond what she just experienced.

_You pulled me away?_

She reached out to Ozpin’s voice from where it rested in her mind, waiting for her to regain her control before he answered.

_Yes._

Pyrrha kept her eyes shut tight, wrapping her fingers in the sheets around her, willing her muscles to stop trembling.

_Was that the Fall Maiden?_

She sensed Ozpin contemplating his answer, taking his time; she could sense his concern and it sent her heart to beat harder against the ice forming in her blood.

_I could only sense the presence of the magic as it stirred. It did not seem complete, whole, entirely contained._

Pyrrha heard hesitation in his tone.

_Is something wrong?_

A pause before he answered her.

_Likely._

 

\----

 

Pyrrha finished lacing her boot as Ozpin came to collect his cane; she refused to look at the rumpled bed and stack of books she had forgotten about until the moment she saw him glance at the bedstand. She stood and felt she should say something, anything, to break the silence.

“I thought you had a reason for leaving it behind,” she said, gesturing to the cane. “I didn’t mean to cause any harm.”

“You did exactly as I hoped,” Ozpin responded, breaking his distraction from the golden gears in the handle of his weapon to glance at Pyrrha. “I had a firm presence in your encounter as to forbid you to answer her call and you have another glimpse as to the impact this magic has on the world around it. Although we are not ready to transfer the power, it does not mean you should be ignorant of it and its various shapes and influences.”

“How long were you with me in my mind?”

“Most of the morning,” he answered, still studying the cane as though inspecting it for damage.

Pyrrha felt her face flush and she casually asked, “How much of the morning?”  

Ozpin didn’t look up as he replied, “I became aware you woke when you became aware you were not dreaming. Please know I would ask your permission before entering your thoughts but I didn’t understand until heard your call as the magic pulled you in.”

He finished his assessment and focused entirely on Pyrrha as she regained control over herself.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as she moved to the door. She realized the declaration of trust she had made in reaching out and marveled at their contact. “I didn’t realize it was possible to reach for you until I did.”

“Nor did I, admittedly,” Ozpin said, smiling as he joined her. He gestured to the books on the bedstand.

“You may take them,” he offered. “Bring them back here when you have finished. Or, feel free to stay in the evenings. This is your room as long as you’d like.”

She nodded her thanks, returning Ozpin’s smile as she gathered two off the top of the teetering stack and stepped into the hallway.

“Your aura,” Ozpin started, Pyrrha immediately attentive as he escorted her down the corridor to the elevator. “In assessing your difficulty in regaining your strength quickly in combat, I believe you are not retaining what you generate.”

Pyrrha stepped into the elevator, expecting him to follow, but the headmaster was rooted to the floor of the corridor. He stared at her as she stared back and she wished, for a half a moment, that she was still in bed and dreaming.

“You’re passing your strength to me.”

 

\---

 

Team JNPR staged along the edge of the forest with their classmates, Norah dancing around Ren and singing a little song as she swung Magnhild back and forth. Team RSTY jumped out of the way as Norah whirled wide to her tune, war-hammer swooping with an electric crackle, and a green-haired boy grumbled as he patted his singed bangs. Ren placed himself between Norah and Jaune as their team leader took a few hesitant swings with his ancient broadsword. Jaune had been quiet all morning, keeping an eye out for Pyrrha during breakfast and, while the team prepared for their training session off school grounds, he sent dozens of messages to her scroll from his.

“She’ll be here,” Ren assured, Jaune shuffling his feet with transparent worry. “When has she ever missed class? Especially a training excursion?”

“She’s missed an awful lot of class, actually,” Norah unhelpfully piped up, interrupting her song to peer at Jaune. “Weiss’ sister pulls her out for training nearly every day. Sometimes I’ve brought her the required homework-“

Ren’s glance was enough to set Norah back from her spiel and recognize the effect she was having on Jaune, who was digging the tip of his sword into the dirt and pulling up tufts of grass. A crow cawed from a nearby branch and Jaune shrugged as he felt Ren and Norah silently exchange concern.

“She must be exhausted,” he muttered. “They work her so hard, she sleeps in practice rooms.”

“I was talking with Velvet and she says-” Norah started but ran past Jaune to embrace her tall, red-headed teammate as Pyrrha jogged toward them, armor glinting in the mid-morning sunlight. If not for the circles under her eyes, she would have looked as cheerful and energetic as Norah herself. She caught Jaune’s wary glance and cast her eyes down to her shield.

“Sorry I’m late, I just-“

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Jaune said, turning pink as he continued to dig out clumps of dirt with his sword.

“But you’re the team leader and I didn’t remember today was a training mission,” she reconciled, Jaune glancing to Ren and Norah to gauge their reactions. Neither seemed overly worried but he didn’t know what else to say but, “You need to be here.”

“I’m sorry,” Pyrrha responded with a frown, “I’m here now. I can only keep apologizing.”

“I don’t know what those teachers are doing but you need to tell them you’re still a student, you’re still on a team, and you need to get some rest in your own bed!”

Jaune’s voice lowered, Pyrrha and Norah horrified at his outburst, and he flushed furiously.

“I’m well aware what I need to do,” Pyrrha stammered. She couldn’t even blush for her own sake as classmates near enough to overhear Jaune’s pitched scolding started to whisper. “I’m here now, Jaune, and I’m still part of this team. I want to- I want to be here, truly, and-“

Ren placed a careful hand on Pyrrha’s shoulder and, as much as she tried to stay calm, the huntress started to feel her eyes prickle with tears. She needed this comfort, she wanted it since the first moment she realized what distance she would need to keep from the friends she loved dearly, and regretted pushing Jaune away so many nights ago when he first asked what was different between them. She was panicked then, Pyrrha reminded herself as she smiled at Ren and let his smile bolster her failing spirits. Now, she had some semblance of a plan, a few more answers than questions for once, and this was a day to be with her team: she wasn’t going to muck it up with fears and sadness.

“Cut her a break,” Norah grinned at Jaune as she lovingly tapped him with her hammer, Jaune’s hair standing on end as he received the static shock of his life. “Today is about having fun!”

“Actually, today you’ll likely run for your lives as we train up the future hunters and huntresses of Remnant,” Professor Oobleck said as he dashed around them all on his way to the edge of the forest, clapping his hands for their attention.

“But,” he amended, “No reason we can’t have fun!”

“We?”

“Yes, Miss Schnee,” Oobleck said, ignoring Weiss’ tone and drinking deep from his thermos with the speed of a flaming rabbit running for a river. “I’m pleased to introduce our newest adjunct faculty to Beacon Academy and your new Impromptu Combat Instructor, Qrow Branwen.”

“THAT’S MY UNCLE!”

Ruby’s voice ripped the birds from the forest canopies as the lean hunter flipped gracefully from a nearby branch. Yang nudged Ruby quiet as the young huntress-in-training squealed silently into her sleeves.

“Impromptu?” asked the green-haired boy with the still-smoking bangs.

“Ah, yes,” Oobleck acknowledged. “As we have had quite a bit of bad luck the last year with students finding themselves in mortal peril well beyond the sanctioned amount of real world experience we’d hope those of your age group would encounter-“ Here he took a pause to breathe “-some of the staff petitioned our Headmaster to allow guarded instruction on certain training missions.”

“Yeah, but why him?”

Weiss channeled her sister’s known dislike for the scarred hunter, judgement flashing across her face as she took in his torn cape and mussed hair. Despite himself, Qrow started to fix his rumpled hair before turning the motion into a suave and casual stretch, winking at Yang as she laughed at him.

“Um, well, actually,” Oobleck shared hesitantly, “He was the only qualified candidate who was interested.”

The students blinked at Qrow and he blinked back.

“If you’ll all reference your scrolls, team leaders will have your assignments regarding the tasks set forth for today’s training mission.”

Oobleck regained his caffeinated whirlwind pace and joined Team RWBY in clarifying a question for Ruby as Weiss impetuously tossed her ponytail over her shoulder in annoyance. Jaune pulled out his scroll and ignored the notification that his dozens of messages had been read but not responded to by Pyrrha Nikos; his shame at his outburst was palpable and Norah attempted to cheer him up with funny faces as Ren stood supportively at his side.

“We’re hunting a Death Stalker?!”

“We took one on our first week at Beacon,” Ren mused as Jaune wiped the shock off his face. “We’re better prepared now than we were then so-“

“So it’ll be harder to kill us!”

Norah realized she was being unhelpful again and resumed a humming version of her earlier song, flipping through her own scroll to read the assignment details Jaune forwarded to them all. Some team leaders used the notes as opportunity to strengthen their communication and delegate tasks according to team skills. Some team leaders chose to dispense of the leadership training and just share whatever had been sent by professors. Jaune was one of the latter.

“We’re approaching from the East while Team RWBY comes from the North,” Ren read off, twitching an eyebrow. “That’ll be a long trip for them to head that far into the forest only to come back South. We’ll get to the nest before they do.”

“Team GLMR gets a Creep,” Norah lamented, pouting as a girl sauntered by with shimmering pink hair and a ridiculous amount of sequins on her jacket. The girl laughed about the ugly Grimm as she led her team down into a nearby valley. “I wanted a Creep.”

“Well, that one guy in Intermediate Weapons Modifications really wants to ask you to the Spring Formal,” Ren countered, Norah smacking him playfully on the shoulder. “No, seriously, the one with the really horrid body odor. He asked if we were going steady and if I would mind.”

Jaune perked up his ears, hoping for confirmation at last that Ren and Norah were more than inseparable pals and occasional snuggle buddies, before realizing Pyrrha was nowhere in sight. Again.

 

\------

 

“Instead of speaking,” Qrow started as the red-headed huntress approached him with a question obvious on her lips, “Listen for a second.”

She obliged, red hip scarf swirling around her knees as she came to a halt under the shade of the forest branches, and smiled as demurely as she could to compensate for the flames rushing under her skin. She was certain her voice, her strides, even a twitch of a muscle would give her secret away to classmates around her but she desperately needed to ask Qrow about the goddess she encountered that morning.

“I’m listening,” she countered, flexing the fingers of her damaged hand and refraining from wincing as the skin stretched over bruised joints. Qrow gestured with his hand to take a step to the left, subtle but insistent, and Pyrrha moved just in time to avoid a flurry of rose petals as Ruby dashed to hug her beloved uncle.

“WE’REGOINGTOGOHUNTADEALTHSTALKERANDYOU’REHEREAND-“

Ruby rambled as she clung to Qrow and Pyrrha looked toward her team as they gathered around Jaune. She had reminded him kindly but firmly before every team mission that leaders should use their information with discretion rather than just forwarding the assignment but she found herself smiling fondly to know that, although her world was trying to upend itself, there was comfort in the predictable. Qrow sent his nieces and their teammates along, marking the map on Yang’s scroll for a large tree they might encounter on their path that produced delicious sap. Pyrrha saw Jaune begin to look for her and turned away, forcing herself to stand tall and still in patient anticipation for Qrow’s attention.

“Look,” he said, glancing up at her as he took out his flask and snuck a sip while Dr. Ooblong gave Team RSTY a rousing rendition of a personal past encounter with their assigned Grimm. “I know you’re probably not thrilled with me but I want you to know this is all for the best. Keeping an eye on you is only part of the reason I’m here.”

He leaned in conspiratorially, Pyrrha catching the faint whiff of bitter liquor on his breath.

“Part of it really is that you and your friends have trashed Vale too many times for Oz to keep up appearances. Only a little has to do with the whole-“

He gestured at her vaguely, making a face that promised he wasn’t completely sober. She raised an eyebrow at him and proceeded to explain the encounter with the spirit of the Fall Maiden. She knew he knew she was leaving out why she had Ozpin’s cane and didn’t care as his smirk became a grin before becoming a sneer.

“Well, sounds like you’ve gotten over the whining, at least,” he said with a hint of teasing in his voice. “You really believe you had a peaceful encounter with the unruly magic that killed a far more powerful huntress than yourself? Delusional is better than moping around, I suppose.”

“It wasn’t exactly peaceful,” Pyrrha countered slowly, finding words to sufficiently describe the immense awe and fear she felt as she drifted in that vast expanse. “More like it was curious about me, like it wanted me there, and she was furious when I was swept away from her.”

Qrow flicked a finger under her chin and Pyrrha started from her contemplation, his nail snapping against her jaw to get her attention. She glared at him and he rubbed the stubble on his own jaw, shaking his head at her.

“Stop with the ‘her’ nonsense. That isn’t a ‘her.’ That’s magic.”

“Well, it certainly knew what a woman looked like,” Pyrrha said, exasperated. “She came toward me from the water, from the stars, and she had the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Believe me, you don’t know blue eyes,” Qrow smirked. “Still not a woman. Still magic. Still dangerous. Oz was a fool to leave you alone with that thing.”

“He wanted me to see what it would do, though. He knew it would reach out, somehow.”

“How do you know you weren’t dreaming?”

At this, Pyrrha didn’t have an immediate answer and glanced back to where her team was waiting for her. Jaune was gnawing his lip as Norah appeared to be trying to teach a reluctant Ren how to waltz.

“I had just been dreaming,” she responded, ignoring Qrow’s eyeroll. “This wasn’t a dream. I wanted to hear your perspective on what the magic was trying to tell me.”

“It wasn’t trying to speak to you,” Qrow said, waving her team over. “You should take it for the warning it was: you’re not ready yet, not even close, for what that power is capable of. It might have been trying to seduce you, to lure you, maybe even hurt you. Until you and Oz have your whatever-you-want-to-call-it figured out, stay away from that staff.”

“Cane,” she corrected, forcing a smile as Jaune approached, Norah spinning Ren around and around in Jaune’s wake.

“Keep these kids safe, you hear?”

Qrow made to walk into the shadows before Pyrrha caught his eye with a sense of urgency. He paused his stride, slumping his shoulders.

“What’s wrong,” he intoned as a statement rather than a question. Pyrrha turned her back to her approaching team so no one could see her hand as she took off her glove. Qrow frowned as she made sure he had a clear look at the damage Winter’s blade had done before she pulled her glove back on.

“My aura is… different right now,” she whispered, aware Jaune was just steps away. “I can’t heal myself.”

The hunter was silent, contemplative as Norah released Ren and nearly sent Jaune tumbling to the ground. Pyrrha kept her back to them, holding her breath for any inclination Qrow knew even a scrap of detail about her inadvertent siphoning of her own power to Ozpin. As she actively regretted not stopping the elevator to insist Ozpin share more, Qrow heaved a sigh.

“Listen up,” he addressed Team JNPR, holding his forehead in his palm with all the daintiness of squashing a rather nasty bug. “I’m with you today.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Does she shut up? Ever?”

Qrow slouched as the four students sprawled in a sunny patch, waiting for Team RWBY as far North as they dared without losing sight of the Death Stalker’s cave. Norah was singing and, although Jaune, Ren, and Pyrrha were used to the constant sound of their friend’s voice, Qrow was not. Ren in particular wasn’t found of Ruby’s uncle and rolled his eyes, defending his childhood companion.

“Just leave her be,” he said, sitting up from the nest of grass and watching Norah as she rolled through the clearing. Her jacket was covered in stains but she was having the best afternoon of all of them.

Qrow had finished his flask on their trek to the cave and was increasingly annoyed with the constant vigilance Norah’s noise-making required. Muttering she’d wake up every Grimm in the whole damn forest, Qrow paced the small but comfortable resting place as the four regained their energy from the hike. They weren’t all that tired, not even Pyrrha, but the break from their feet was welcome.

“I knew we’d be ahead of Team RWBY but not by this much,” Ren contemplated, Jaune sitting up to join his teammate as Ren pulled up the map on his scroll. “I wonder if they’ve found trouble.”

“Probably,” Qrow shrugged, hesitating in his stride to look over Ren’s shoulder at the map. “Not as much trouble as we’ll be if she wakes up that Death Stalker before RWBY arrives.”

Norah, unphased, started to make up lyrics to her tune that involved Qrow riding on the back of a large and smelly Ursa.

“Do you want to go ahead and meet them on the path?”

Jaune noticed Qrow’s quick glance at Pyrrha, who was dozing in a nest of sweet-grass nearby, and took a deep breath to calm his worries. There was little conversation between Qrow, Pyrrha, and Jaune on their journey, mostly because it was hard to hear over Norah’s incessant questioning of Ren, but the few sentences they did share seemed to carry a weight between Qrow and Pyrrha. He recalled the night he brought her back to the dormitories and wondered at what Qrow’s role was in Pyrrha’s training.

“No, they’ll be fine. You forget who my niece is. Who do you think helped her build her Crescent Rose?”

Jaune tried to keep his question casual, checking if Pyrrha was indeed asleep before calling out to Qrow.

“Do you, uh, know how much longer Pyrrha will have to keep up her special aura training?”

Qrow gave Jaune a glance that quite obviously meant it was none of his business and shrugged without breaking pace around the clearing.

“I mean, uh,” Jaune tried, failing at faking confidence and knowing there was no fooling the experienced hunter. “She comes back late, leaves class early, is always tired, and Wiess' sister keeps her busy in the courtyard most afternoons when the rest of us are studying.”

“And?”

Qrow shrugged again, checking again that his flask was indeed empty, and Jaune grew impatient.

“It seems a little ridiculous.”

The hunter heaved a sigh, avoiding Norah’s flailing arms as she intercepted his path in an errant roll. The sun beat overhead; Qrow preferred cooler weather but winter would come soon enough – already the leaves were hinting at change and travel would become difficult for even crows.

“I bet you’re a real nice kid,” Qrow said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and reversing his path to avoid the rather large mound of grass Norah ripped up. “That’s real sweet that you’re stuck on Pyrrha but you can't punish her for doing what's been asked of her.”

Jaune made to interrupt but Qrow shook his head.

“You think you’re just trying to do what you think is right by your team, I know. We all heard your little fit when she walked up late. You have no idea.”

“No idea about what?”

“Just leave it alone, kid. Treat her nice and leave it all alone.”

Pyrrha, curled in the taller grass near the edge of the clearing, listened to their continued exchange with a heavy heart. This was no good – Ren was likely listening, as well, and she couldn’t come up with any more lies. Imaginative, perhaps, but nothing that would convince three people who were each intelligent in their own ways. Norah was perhaps the most acutely aware of all of them that something was wrong rather than different about Pyrrha’s disappearances. She had stayed quiet, perhaps assuming Pyrrha would share when she was ready, but the red-haired huntress didn’t want to bring any more attention to herself than was already unavoidable.

She had hoped to regain some energy by attempting a nap; it had not been a strenuous trip from the school to the Death Stalker hide-out but her hand was still aching. If she went to the infirmary, she’d have to come up with another lie, then another, and then likely another, especially as her own reputation for aura would raise eyebrows at the inability to heal her injury. She had been aware enough of her muscles, joints, and bones that she could use her aura to sooth tension – almost as good as a cold compress for strains – but standing in the steam of a hot shower was as close as she could get to relief lately. Pyrrha closed her eyes and rubbed her most damaged fingers gently with her good hand.

Siphoning aura was unheard of. There were plenty of things you could do with aura, including unveil the abilities of others, but anything new to her was likely new to Remnant itself. There were hardly any books in the Beacon library about aura beyond practical implementation in meditation and battle. In addition to what she already borrowed that morning, perhaps she’d need to request an afternoon in the Headmaster’s personal library, even with the mahogany creatures keeping vigilance.

_Do you dislike them so much?_

Pyrrha squeezed her eyes tight, catching her breath. She heard Ozpin’s voice as though he were right beside her and it was all she could do to keep from looking for him.

 _Before I left_ , she whispered hurriedly, ignoring the memory of carved creatures to take advantage of the question she had rolled in her mind all day. _You said you had my aura?_

She felt as much as heard his increasingly familiar chuckle.

 _Not have as in possess_ , he replied, _but I have been taking more than my fair share of your aural energies. Quite by accident, I've found out. Admittedly, I have struggled to determine how this came to be._

 _I can’t hold up well in a fight if I can’t heal myself_ , Pyrrha reminded. _That Death Stalker we’ve tracked will do more harm than Winter’s sword._

 _We should have addressed this last night,_ Ozpin answered, _I did not wish for you to feel obliged to engage me further after our conversation, however._

Pyrrha could hardly recall his reference until a wave crashed around in her stomach, banging against her ribs before ebbing back to memory, and she willed herself to embrace the urgency of her need for solutions rather than the heat from a fireplace late at night.

_Have you had a similar problem? Different?_

She felt a prickling in her toes and the fingers of her undamaged hand; Pyrrha’s puzzlement transferred across their connection and she felt his triumph.

 _Similar enough_ , he shared, Pyrrha understanding the source of his pride and relishing the joy of the experience rather than fighting the increasingly uncomfortable jabs in her wounded joints.

 _Unlike you, though, in that I’ve felt stronger,_ Ozpin continued, and Pyrrha sensed a thoughtful frown across his face as he continued to attempt to push rather than pull unaware. _I believed it to be unrelated to our training until I realized the ridiculousness in that assumption. Anything connected to our souls, our hearts, are now inexplicably altered. When I saw your wound last night, I wondered why you hadn’t healed yourself until I realized._

Catching herself resisting the pressure welling against her skin, she startled at the result of allowing the heat to flow deeply through her hand. Within moments, Pyrrha felt the bones creak and ligaments snap and she had to keep from crying out through the pain of it. Quickly, she felt Ozpin smooth her nerves as she would smooth a wrinkle, muting the experience of such rapid healing.

 _Don’t_ , she whispered. She felt his surprise and then lost grip on the thread linking them as she curled her body around her hand, feeling the flow of energy narrow and healing slow as she closed herself off to stop the pain. The huntress slowly allowed more and more into her hand until she was balancing the benefits of the healing effects against her endurance of them. She knew he could sense her relief and awe, even as their connection drifted back into the ether of her soul, and Pyrrha realized this was far beyond her recollections of their first training session. Ozpin had said very few had ever accomplished regenerating aura in the midst of battle. Now, she marveled. Giddy with the discovery, she had something just as valuable: a second source of energy.

This way of communicating had less nausea and exhaustion than she expected and Pyrrha was grateful for it as she heard the thunder of clawed paws and strike of metal on Grimm armor. Leaping up, Pyrrha transformed Milo into rifle-form, activating her Semblance. She felt ecstatic and could sense Ozpin's smile. No matter how many training missions she had been on, the adrenaline of the hunt was as delicious and routine as a bite of chocolate and the huntress thrilled at the opportunity to exercise her regained aural strength. Behind her, she heard Norah leap up with her war-hammer and Jaune pull his sword with a clumsy clank against his plate metal; Qrow melted into the shadows and transformed with a whisper.

Blake was first in sight, running out of the trees and firing behind her at a relatively small Ursa. With the cat-like grace that set her apart from her team, she hooked her weapon high into the canopy and swung out of the path of the galloping Grimm. Blake soared in a wide arc as Yang dashed into the clearing; Ruby's sister practically bounced in glee as she sent a blast from her gauntlets to stun the Ursa long enough for Blake to place a well-timed kick to the Ursa's face. Norah, with grass staining her battle skirt and stuck in her tousled strawberry hair, snapped the Ursa's neck with her war-hammer. Ren hadn't bothered to take out his scythes and started to pick the grass from Norah's hair as the Grimm disappeared into ashy remnants of manifested fear.

“Where's Weiss and Ruby?”

Jaune needn't have asked, as the two girls were audible in their argument long before Team JNPR could see them through the trees. Blake shook her head and returned her blade to her side with a snap of the wrist that let them all know she was not in a mood to discuss anything as she stalked toward Yang. The bubbly blonde rolled her eyes at Jaune's question.

“Weiss is cranky Ruby attacked out of turn. Again. It wasn't a big deal but she won't let it go.”

“Weiss isn't wrong to be upset,” Blake observed, less in defense of Ruby and more from annoyance. “Ruby could have been hurt if Weiss hadn't pulled back in time. She's had the same problem since the beginning of last year and it wastes Dust, anyway.”

“Well, we took down that Grimm just fine on our own,” Yang cheered, shooting Norah a gesture of appreciation.

The red-haired huntress felt a bit disappointed that the Grimm had been so easily defeated and started to return her shield to her shoulder before realizing the rumbling behind them that she assumed was Norah's stomach was getting louder. Everyone in the clearing discovered at the same time that the Death Stalker was no longer in the nest and it was not alone.

 

\---

 

Their trek back to Beacon felt significantly longer than the trip out to the Death Stalker nest. After it became apparent Weiss and Ruby were not going to resolve their argument in the amount of patience Blake had left, Qrow finally bodily picked up Ruby to place her at the back of the group and shuffled Weiss to the front, drawling that he'd pack Weiss off to her sister with a note detailing the play-by-play of the rather shoddy performance on the training trip if the Schnee heir didn't stay in line. Indignant but obedient, Weiss took up a one-sided conversation with Ren about the benefits and disadvantages of a particular type of Dust, satisfied with Ren's listening skills. Yang shared a rather inappropriate story with Norah about a night club she had been to over summer break and Norah blushed at the right moments of Yang's vivid recollection of how exactly the meeting, fighting, and making up went with the club owner. Blake had a book pulled up on her scroll and was reading with contentment, never even scuffing a toe on a rock as she stayed in the center of the path, relaxing now that two of her teammates weren't squabbling in her ears.

Pyrrha placed herself firmly in the middle of the group to enjoy the conversations around her and successfully engaged Jaune in a discussion about Semblance, the team leader forgetting his frustration and worry about Pyrrha's absences and clinging to what became a lesson in meditation theory. She didn't mention that most of this was already covered in their first year at Beacon but didn't mind the opportunity to enforce what Jaune would need to know to continue finding his own Semblance. One of the only students who did not yet know what their Semblance was, Jaune was often at a disadvantage during combat practice and the professor who had replaced Glinda Goodwitch was not as considerate in assigning opponents that Jaune could face fairly.

She had felt Ozpin's aural proximity during the battle with the Death Stalker and the dozen or so Grimm that had been attracted by the battle with the Ursa and flavored by the fight between Weiss and Ruby. His presence in her thoughts was smooth, her concentration left without a ripple as she felt her own strength sustain her and his contribution adding to the speed and force in Pyrrha's attacks. Reveling in her own capabilities, physically mended and thoughts temporarily free from the constant presence the Fall Maiden claimed in her mind, Pyrrha had taken on the Death Stalker alongside Ruby and Weiss.

Ren and Norah helped Blake, Yang, and Jaune clear the younger, less capable Grimm while Weiss cast glyphs allowing Ruby and Pyrrha to attack from above and behind the Death Stalker with extra speed and leverage against the tough armor. Ruby swung firmly with Crescent Rose, exuberant in her attacks, while Pyrrha protected them from the striking stinger with her shield before severing the stinger with her blade. Weiss' endurance was quickly sapped in direct combat but her glyphwork was extraordinary; Pyrrha found herself having fun leaping from cast to cast as Weiss wielded more Dust in one battle than most hunters could afford in a dozen missions.

In the end, Ruby had taken the Death Stalker's head immediately after Pyrrha struck it blind, Jaune cheering them both while sidling up to Weiss; with a flounce of her battle-skirt, Weiss ignored Jaune and sauntered to join Blake and Yang. Pyrrha felt bad for Jaune, who had harbored a crush for the heiress since their first day at Beacon, but also relieved to know few things had actually changed in her increasing absences. Ren and Norah were still inseparable, Jaune was still doing the best he could with what he thought he had, and Team RWBY were still the well-deserved rising stars of the school. But, she allowed herself the doubt as a large crow cast a shadow across her own, where did that leave her?

 

\----

 

After a hot shower and a meditation session, Pyrrha enjoyed a hearty meal with her team and finished an essay on ballistics for Professor Port, relishing the normalcy. She could tell Ozpin was giving her distance and time, allowing for these moments back in her old skin, but the red-haired huntress kept thinking of him, the books she wanted to search for in his library, the encounter with the magic hidden high away in Beacon Tower... As she got up from her desk in the dormitories and walked past the pajamas laid out on her bed, Norah took off her headphones.

“Where ya going?”

Pyrrha turned, handle on the doorknob, and struggled with the lie on her lips.

“Pyrrha,” Norah said softly, “I don't know what's going on but I want you to know you can tell me anything. You're one of my best friends.”

The red-haired huntress took a deep breath, pushing the last few weeks to the bottom of her stomach and keeping them as far from her tongue as possible; it hadn't been easy, feeling so ill and drained, always sore, and as secluded as ever. It was different than the distance fame had brought her, much different than the space she kept from others for most of her life; this secrecy had not been from choice but from necessity.

“And best friends don't let other best friends stay in their uniform this late in the evening!” Norah lept up from her chair, jumping onto Ren's bed and brandishing a finger in Pyrrha's surprised face. “Pajama party? I even laid them out for you!”

Ren, for his part, hadn't even blinked when Norah practically stepped on him. He looked at Pyrrha and she asked him silently, in their own way, for his help.

“Norah, I don't think I have pajamas out yet,” Ren observed, giving Pyrrha a small smile as she grabbed her scroll and slipped through the door.

 

\---

 

The silence between them was comfortable, contemplative over the crackling of the fire, and Pyrrha felt whole of mind and body for the first time in weeks. The worries about becoming the Fall Maiden hadn't completely disappeared, lingering in her bones to snap out on an occasional spare thought, but there was less trepidation regarding the man just a few steps away.

There were less formal pleasantries when she arrived, Ozpin quite simply handing her a mug of herbal tea and returning to his stack of books resting on a small table beside the scratchy wing-backed chair. He stoked the fire with a flick of the wrist and Pyrrha was pleased enough to pull a fluffy grey blanket over her legs as she settled on the settee directly across from the fireplace. She ignored the reproachful owl peeking from his carved hideout, didn't glance at the fieldmice clamering up the footstool nearby, and limited her glances at the tapestries cast in shadow around the room.

She spent hours pouring through Aural Projections & Wards, pleased that her tea never grew cold and always seemed several sips from the dregs rather than entirely empty, rubbing the fingers of her healed hand across the soft fur of the blanket. The pleasant scent of pinecones and woodsmoke filled the room and Pyrhha caught herself in a contented sigh more than once.

The huntress allowed herself the time to glance over the top of the cracked leather binding and observe Ozpin, absorbing minute details in a softer light than circumstances had previously allowed. The silver glint of thread off his collar, a rich warmth in the velvet of his jacket, and even the scars across his hands seemed less forbidding than their first encounter in this room. She felt her ribs tighten painfully around her lungs and her heart leap to choke her as Ozpin occasionally wandered the shelves to add another book to the small table beside his own cup of tea. She embraced her tribulations rather than rejecting the choices laid before her – if she had never known what this connection meant, she would have continued to fight the expectations ahead of them – and appreciated the silent time to accustom herself to his company.

“Do you believe in destiny?”

Ozpin's voice was quiet but came easily to her ears as he stood in front of one of the vast shelves full of glimmering secrets and ancient texts. He leaned lightly on the cane containing their very reason for the strange and intimate balance between them; Pyrrha had missed the magic since her encounter with the goddess-spirit, ached for it like a forbidden bite of something sweet and intoxicating, and failed to force herself to think no more of it while she was still unable to harness the power.

“Yes, to an extent,” Pyrrha answered, closing her book with her thumb marking the page. “What specifically do you mean?”

“I mean what I intend to mean,” Ozpin replied kindly, casually glancing over his shoulder at her as he reached to riffle through the pages of a small cloth-bound book. He tucked the cane under his arm and Pyrrha briefly admired his tall form as she fought to keep her thoughts to herself.

“I hold the belief that our smaller, day-to-day actions have little to no effect on our larger scheme, whether or not we know what that plan is. We are in control of ourselves but only to the extent we can foresee.”

“A quality answer for a classroom,” he said, continuing the perusal of his personal library as Pyrrha rubbed her stockingfeet together under the warm fur blanket. “Destiny, however, deserves an answer from your heart as well as your head.”

The huntress willed that heart to stop fluttering and start beating firm again as she watched Ozpin add the cloth book to the arm holding his cane, the headmaster crossing the woven carpets tossed over hardwood to join Pyrrha on the edge of the settee as she refined her answer.

“Yes,” she said simply, not shrinking from her response or finding the need for an apology.

Ozpin's eyes gleamed amber in the firelight and she shifted to place her feet against his thigh, black uniform tights a guard between her skin and his touch. He drifted a hand over the top of her ankles nearly absentmindedly, as though they were no more an intrusion than a resting cat, and he stared into the fire as Pyrrha felt the surge of adrenaline as though she were hunting Grimm in the forest. She wished for more, fought herself for some sense of casual flippancy, and allowed the sheer comfort of the action to win over the emotions battling within. She was sure she was unable to keep the struggle to herself and Ozpin was tactful enough to allow her the privacy of sorting her thoughts. They were silent again as he brought his mug and another book from the stack by his chair to settle in on the settee at the very end of where Pyrrha rested, the huntress pleased enough when he placed the blanket back over her toes.

They continued their reading well into the night, one pausing only to contemplate the other before resuming the search for any information that could help them transfer the power humming in the cane between them.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, non-Pyrrha chapter, by complete accident. You'll care later, I promise.
> 
> The plot bunnies had me in their grip... do people still say "plot bunnies?"

James Ironwood sat at the polished wooden bar, waiting for his invitee with an impatience that pulsed the air. As the bartender turned his back, Ironwood dashed the contents of the glass to the ground and provided his own drink, tipping a similarly amber-hued liquid into the glass and returning his small flask to a hidden pocket. He was always uncomfortable out of uniform and tonight was no exception; the black jacket and trousers were reinforced with Atlasian technology and Dust, providing as much protection as his daily uniform would, but he struggled with the change nonetheless. It wouldn't do to walk into a seedy bar on the outskirts of Vale dressed to his status but he at least didn't have to drink the slop they served him.

Winter and her units were scouting this sector of the city in anticipation of the Vytal Festival to be held in Vale and, although the tournament was months away, it was typical for Ironwood to offer opinions on security at every host site. Once every two years, the Vytal Festival was an opportunity for the four kingdoms of Remnant to come together in celebration of diversity, culture, and remembrance of the war that separated them so many years ago. Last year, Ironwood himself hosted the Festival in Atlas, the Amity Colosseum floating near the Academy like a second moon in the sky. Headmaster Lionheart and Ozpin himself had come to give Ironwood their best, neither staying long but their presence demonstrating the solidarity that embodied the mission of the Festival.

As Ironwood remembered, the latest winner of the Mistral Tournament had been given excellent seats to attend the final combat, and her red hair stuck out amongst the stiff white uniforms of his own students. He had sent a representative to meet with several potential initiates to Atlas Academy – she had been the only one to decline that day – and Ironwood was not surprised when the representative had informed him Ms. Nikos stated she had accepted an offer at Beacon Academy. It had been the first time he took notice of this huntress-in-training and, as the General wet his lips with a strong drink while the sun set across the city of Vale, he wished he had never encountered her at all.

A body slipped onto the stool beside him, Ironwood glancing out of the corner of his eye to notice Qrow looking back at him, slumped and ruffled.

“Took you long enough,” the General muttered, continuing to sip at his drink and pulling credit from his pocket as Qrow caught the bartender's attention. Once Qrow had gulped enough to require a second dash from a tall bottle with a bitter scent, the hunter spoke.

“I almost didn't come,” he said quietly, glancing at the door and keeping an eye on the bartender as the old man carefully wiped tables with a tattered cloth.

“Ozpin's man through and through?”

“I know there isn't a lot of love rattling around in that shell of a body, “Qrow snarked, “But I'd have thought you had enough room for loyalty.”

“I'm not doing this to work against him,” Ironwood replied, keeping his voice low and level. “I asked you here so I could have your advice, not your reflexive discordance.”

Qrow made a little sound into his glass, nearly draining his drink before he responded.

“I'm not going to tell you anything you don't already know, James, and not because I know things I want to keep from you. We're on the same side here. Ozpin doesn't think there is a need for your military presence and I agree with him – this is a celebration, not a declaration of war.”

“Does he understand the severity of the threats? The time constraints? The Grimm presence alone has increased our need for support to the hunters and huntresses in Atlas, not to mention Vacuo and Mistral. I am-”

Ironwood couldn't bring himself to share how stretched his military was, to remind Qrow how much assistance his kingdom provided to others without compensation or expectation of repayment. He had talented staff at Atlas Academy but their reports addressed concerns that a majority of students were underprepared for the strenuous examinations, many of them struggling in advanced and even intermediate courses, and more than a few upperclassmen were not graduating to the standards his military required. Even after evaluating his instructors and their methods, the only thing Ironwood could see was fear itself holding his students back. They were afraid of being sent to war, afraid of their enemy, afraid of their own shadows. There was a change in the air, a shift as families discouraged their sons and daughters from a profession as a hunter, huntress, or soldier. Very few knew his enrollment was slipping, students transferring to Shade Academy or requesting recommendations to Beacon or Haven, and it would not be a secret much longer if Ironwood did not restore faith to the people of Remnant.

“Atlas is a symbol of strength, of protection,” Ironwood began again, looking at Qrow as the hunter rolled his ringed fingers across the rim of his glass. “As much as it pains me to use the Vytal Festival as a stage to demonstrate this reality, I feel as though I have no other choice in order to remind the world that we are-”

“In collusion with the Schnee Dust Company? Aligned with dubious ethics and rumored to supply radical organizations? Drill your students until they walk out of your academy as stiff as the robotics escorting them? You've got more than an appearance problem, General.”

Qrow leaned his elbows on the bar, measuring the man as he deflated and finished his drink. Ironwood was aged far beyond his years, so much so that Qrow didn't know if even he remembered how young James actually was; the Headmaster of Atlas Academy couldn't have been any older than Qrow himself but shouldered a burden that would kill lesser men. As the grim hunter knew, Ironwood had been poisoned, attacked, shot, and burned on numerous occasions, hardly any flesh of a man left beneath his stiff suit. It was an open secret that the General was a cheater of death but none knew as much as James himself how far he was from the master of it. How he functioned, let alone thrived, was never something Qrow asked, nor would he ever. He thought it had been a political gamble, a smart choice from a prideful woman, that Winter Schnee aligned herself with James Ironwood. In this moment, though, Qrow knew the authenticity of her pull to this broken, passionate man.

“Ozpin isn't going to welcome your battleships with open arms,” Qrow said, tinge of guilt in his gut for agreeing to meet Ironwood to begin with. “He won't turn you away but he won't keep quiet. You know this about Oz. Ever the kindness, ever the manners, but don't underestimate his fury when you bring your army to Vale.”

Ironwood was silent for a long time, contemplating Qrow's words as the hunter next to him slouched deeper onto the bar. The city around them was quiet enough that he could the clink of Atlas machinery approaching the tavern and the General knew his meeting with Qrow was nearing its end.

“Can you think of any way I can persuade Ozpin that this is for the best?”

Qrow tossed Ironwood a hard look before tapping his glass on the bar, the old bartender glaring at the rude gesture. As the bottle tipped and Qrow sipped and Ironwood willed his Specialist to stay away a second longer, the world-weary hunter shook his head.

“We need to encourage him to move faster with her,” he said, keeping his back turned to Winter as they heard her footsteps behind them. “He doesn't understand she only has the illusion of choice. Oz is focusing so much on protecting her that he has lost sight of the plan. Remind him, Ironwood. Remind him you will protect Remnant if she isn't ready by the first strike.”

“General, sir,” Winter announced, standing stiffly behind her commander. Qrow nodded back at Ironwood as he acknowledged the favor Qrow gave him in those words. The cloaked hunter dared sneak a glance at the young woman dressed in a Dust-infused black suit; she undoubtedly had been ordered to lessen the impact her presence would bring to any passing citizen of Vale but, like Ironwood, there was no missing Specialist Schnee for who she was, uniform or not.

“I wish I could say you're looking well, Qrow,” she sneered as Ironwood pocketed the credit passed back by the bartender. She blinked in surprise at the lack of rebuttal, no scathing response but a heavy silence as Qrow turned away and looked down into his drink. He didn't know if she saw it, the flicker that found a road through his heart before he quenched the spark formed by just looking at her. When she was in uniform, it was second-nature to treat her as he would treat anyone in the Atlasian military, throw disdain and weapons and barbs until they were both exhausted by the other's presence. With her hair soft and loose around her neck instead of tightly wound and pinned high on her head, with the nearly casual cut of her clothing and nothing about her military issue except her firm stance, Qrow could almost remember her as the huntress-in-training he knew before Atlas Academy wrung him from her.

Winter's puzzled glance at Ironwood drew his cynicism back to the surface, burying the memory of their brief apprenticeship, and Qrow flicked his fingers in response as the General wished him a good night. He finished his drink as they walked away and the tavern door closed with a certain finality Qrow knew to be bad luck on them all.

–

The General turned up his collar against the crisp breeze that wound down the street as they passed closed businesses on the way back to Beacon Academy. Winter's boots were nearly silent on the cobblestones and Ironwood stole a glance as her hair rippled against her shoulders and whipped across her neck. The Specialist sent her units ahead of them, her soldiers preparing both ships while the robotics waited at the launchpads, and Ironwood couldn't remember the last time they had been alone.

He had purposefully placed distance between them after her graduation, realizing his growing fondness for her presence as she prepared with him for council meetings and missions. No longer a student, she earned her position as a Specialist in his army without his interference and James knew even a whisper of impropriety would affect her career. Winter may still carry the Schnee name but her choice to discard the title of heiress had been poorly received by the populace.

He hadn't known what he felt besides an assurance when she was nearby, someone who could carry the weight of Atlas and Remnant when his time came to step aside, but it was a mentorship he carried out under the eyes of the world around them. Always in step with their ever-recording mechs or escorted by soldiers to various functions, James knew his distance from Winter was necessary for both of them.

If she didn't light up inside when he came into the room, if her smile didn't broaden when he spoke, he needn't know.

In the streetlight, he noticed the faint lines around her eyes, the firm set of her mouth, the signs she was no longer new to the world around her but not quite old enough to assure the future of Atlas. Many still discarded her qualifications for her beauty. Ironwood himself had been considered too young, too inexperienced, when he was declared successor to the Atlas military and huntsmen academy. There was time, he assured himself, time before the darkness tightened around them – he had time to continue helping her build her image beyond Atlas, demonstrating to Remnant she was his choice for a role few could execute, and Winter had never failed him.

“Would you consider the girl to require training into the next semester?”

Ironwood made himself listen to her voice, pulling his thoughts from the rushing rivers of doubt and confusion, and he cleared his throat.

“I will inquire with the Headmaster and inform you as to his continued plans for Ms. Nikos.”

“She has come along well,” Winter said, hint of a smile in her voice. “The girl was feeling poorly when we started but manages a victory on occasion during our sessions.”

A faint warmth strung her words and Ironwood smiled. He had enjoyed teaching, the pleasure in a classroom lecture and the rush of an instructional sparring match, and could hear a similar pride in the work he requested of her with Ozpin's red-haired huntress. The few classes she caught at Atlas between her military missions were highly scored by students and she was a strict but sought-after instructor.

“Is Beacon in need of additional teachers?”

“Are you planning on leaving me?”

Winter's sharp glance told him she knew what he meant but not what he accidentally implied.

“Atlas would fall, undoubtedly,” she spared a laugh, short but honest in her mirth. Ironwood let go the breath he held and clasped his hands behind his back as they approached the lights of Beacon Academy. He escorted her to her ship and the General knew he had this last opportunity to ask of her what he had hoped he wouldn't need to command.

“I will require your presence in Atlas once our security in Vale has been assured. However, there are several functions where I would appreciate your attendance during the Vytal Festival itself. Would you please alert my office that you will need to represent the Academy, as well as our military, in several meetings of the Atlasian Council over the next few weeks? If you are so inclined, also request an extension of credit to accommodate attire fitting of a list of occasions pertaining to the Festival.”

Although he had attempted to maintain his composure, Ironwood believed he had perhaps rushed his request. Winter tilted her head, glancing up through her silvery bangs as she pulled her hair off her ear with a graceful motion.

“You sound uncertain, sir.”

“Most assuredly not,” he replied too quickly, watching her form go ridged again in the light from their ships. “Your presence on the council will be a great reassurance to me and the other members of the-”

“I've represented you before,” she stated, confused.

“No, Winter,” he shook his head, realizing he was near breathless in anticipation of her response. “You will be the only representative to the Academy and, when I have completed my duties and can return to the council, I will only hold one seat.”

She allowed a hitch in her breath as she realized what was happening.

“You won't retake the Academy chair? By holding both, you held the Council in sway – You cannot give me this.“

“I know,” he said, reaching out to place a gloved metal hand on her shoulder. “I trust your decisions as they pertain to Atlas Academy and I am immediately accessible for any concerns or concepts you may have for the betterment of the school. I look forward to hearing your reports and hope you would share with me your perspective until I can resume my council duties. I would ask you continue to represent me in my absence until I can take up my chair again and then we will discuss the timeline to your succession."

Winter smiled at him, briefly, warming him even through the chill wind. She stiffened, snapped her heels and saluted him before boarding her airship, Ironwood watching her as she nearly disappeared out of sight.

“Winter!”

She whirled, grabbing the edge of the door as it started to slide shut on whirring gears; her eyes were wide and he realized her tension in the grip of her fingers on the metal.

“I didn't give you this,” he amended, knowing this moment was more for his peace of mind than her benefit, hoping nonetheless that it would help her in darker hours ahead. “You earned it. You've earned everything.”

As she disappeared behind the closing blast-door, he steadied his breathing. Over the rush of engines and mechanical noise, he could hear his heart pounding in his chest. He watched her ship and was acutely aware of his own personal aircraft behind him, attended by a robotic guard, but he waited to turn until her ship was well on the horizon.

He realized the hesitancy in Ozpin's actions, his delay in vigorously training the young huntress destined for a heavy burden: out of kindness, out of love, sometimes we stumbled with those who demonstrated they could carry a weight no one person should have to carry alone.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can assure you, you'll care about this but later. Also, here is another chapter that ends with sleep because we're basic like that.

Autumn drifted away on crisp, cool winds as winter crept over the city of Vale until a thin blanket of snow arrived on a starless night, coating the turrets of Beacon Academy In a pristine veil. The first morning of winter break dawned bright and the friends found themselves drifting between dormitories, Teams RWBY and JNPR casual in their companionship with open doors. Sometimes they called goodbye to passing classmates, occasionally helped a first-year haul their luggage down the hallway, but mostly savored the last few hours together before airships and trains would arrive to take some of them home.

Wiess stared out the window with a cup of coffee, Blake curled up in bed with a romance novel, and Yang and Norah snuggled in a pile of blankets on the floor with a stack of magazines. Jaune and Ren worked at their respective desks on winter break homework, one struggling and the other breezing through the assignments with hardly a pause of his pen to paper. Ruby lounged in bed with her scroll, reading up on a new weapons craftsman in Mistral, and Pyrrha was polishing her armor with a ferocity that caught Jaune's attention.

“Ruby and Yang leave soon,” he said casually, trying to strike up conversation even after Pyrrha had scolded him for distracting himself from his work. “Don't you want to go join them?”

“If I'm done by the time they leave, of course,” she answered, her smile reaching her eyes and setting Jaune at ease. “My train doesn't leave long after they do, though, and I'd look ridiculous with half polished armor.”

“You're spending your break with your Aunt May?”

“Whom else would I spend it with?”

Pyrrha's smile held as she answered softly but the glimmer left her emerald eyes and she resumed scraping dirt from a chip in one of her bracers with extra vigor. Jaune didn't know what he said to illicit her mood shift and turned back to his assignments, catching glimpses from the corner of his eye at Weiss as she stood near her window across the hall.

“You could come stay with my family,” Jaune offered with a false casualty, trying his hardest to sound nonchalant. “They've asked after the whole team but I think they'd like to get to know you best.”

“I won't be spending the entirety of break away from Beacon,” Pyrrha responded, grabbing a rough cloth to start in on a particularly dull portion of her breastplate. “I'll be back a few days before everyone else and plenty of students are staying over break so I won't be lonely. Besides, I don't want to inconvenience your family on such short notice. Thank you for offering.”

Jaune stopped writing as he fully stared at Weiss, Pyrrha regretting looking up from her work as she saw the distance between the Schnee heiress and the clumsy hunter-in-training for what it was; beyond the few dozen steps between them, an entire ocean could have been placed between the two and Jaune would still try to paddle his way across to her. Pyrrha kept herself from sighing.

“Have you thought about what you'll say to her before her airship arrives?”

“No,” Jaune muttered, tracing a portion of his paper with a dull pencil as he obviously struggled with his emotions. “What would I say that could get her to listen, anyway?”

The last few weeks had been a dizzying mix between the mundane and exhilarating, the familiar and the unknown, and Pyrrha had tried to keep a friendly distance from the growing joke that starred Jaune's affections for Weiss. Norah teased him, as well as Yang and Ruby, but Ren refrained from any taunting and gave Jaune steady but silent support as the young man tried everything from serenading the icy huntress to bringing her flowers and sugary treats after classes. Weiss had stoically tolerated Jaune's attempts at wooing her and told him on no uncertain terms that there was a better chance she'd take a Nevermore to the Vytal Festival formal dance than accepting his invitation as his date.

“What would you do, Pyrrha? What could get you to stay yes to someone who has tried so hard?”

Pyrrha paused her ministrations to her armor and tried to keep from reflecting on the very things she actively attempted not to think about when she was with her team. There were two worlds she tried to live in, dividing time between her role as a student, a teammate, a friend, and a huntress while also keeping a life-altering secret from them all. Her other world, the afternoons in the deepest vault and evenings in the highest tower of Beacon Academy, was always just a few words away from crashing into this safe, calm space of everyone else's trials and triumphs.

She genuinely cared when Norah had confessed her frustration with Ren and their companionship that never truly led to the things she found herself craving more and more as they shared a living space. The bubbly girl in pink had lost her cheery hue and slumped, grey and sad, in Pyrrha's bed after waking the red-haired huntress from a deep sleep. Blurry-eyed, she had held her friend and calmed her with advice to continue to be herself, to be the girl she always was, because that was the girl Ren loved. Even if it wasn't time to tell her, Pyrrha shared that it was obvious to everyone but Norah herself how much she was adored by her childhood friend. Norah had bounced back to her lovely self and chewed her pancakes that morning with an extra veracity in appreciation of Ren serving them to her unasked. Pyrrha herself, though, had nearly nothing to say that morning at the breakfast table with her teammates, reflecting on her own advice and how it had so recently impacted her daily routine.

Be yourself, she thought with a sense of loss as she watched Weiss flick potatoes off her sleeve while Ruby flung a forkful of hash at Yang. Be the girl you always were, she echoed, knowing the girl she used to know was gone with the knowledge she would save the world in a magic-infused future so different than the futures of the girls around her. Halfway between who she was and who she knew she needed to become, Pyrrha had tried to be easy on herself and shrug off the weight on her shoulders by surrounding herself with her friends, homework, and daily routines.

She couldn't confide in Norah that her problems were similar to the ones Pyrrha faced with her own companion, the Headmaster of Beacon Academy himself, and the huntress fought her conflict with the most effective weapon she had in her emotional arsenal: diffusion.

Every time she thought she would say yes to his invitation to stay later in his private study, she thanked him but refused. Every time she thought she would leave early, she stayed later. Whenever she found herself looking forward to their training in the vaults, she forced herself to recall the nausea, trepidation, and exhaustion training brought her. Whenever she curled up deep in the guest bed with soft velvet covers and cool white sheets, recovering from her strenuous exercises in actively sharing aura with another, she looked forward to their next meeting. The war in her head mimicked the war in her heart and all she could do was counter the extreme responses to her situation with the opposite, even as she found herself missing Ozpin's presence when she was with her team.

Their touch was calm, natural, devoid of struggle or tension, but Pyrrha caught her breath every time she felt a fire lick through their connection. She continued to find her comfort in his gestures, a graze of his hand over her knee when passing her a book or a faint but clear  _Good morning_ when she woke in her dormitory before beginning her day of class and training. He had refrained from seeking her attentions when training with Winter or any time of the day when she was actively engaging in study but she occasionally bid him _Good night_ as she sought sleep in her own bed. Rarely did she stay in the guest room prepared for her in the tower and he had not appeared with a late-night beverage since their difficult but much needed conversation weeks ago. The huntress hoped he would tap at her door, give her no other option but to be a rude guest and turn him away or invite him in and allow what may come of their evening to pass.

She knew this was on purpose, his sense of propriety and respect allowing Pyrrha complete control, and she wondered if he would actually come if she called to him in the middle of the night. She didn't know if she wanted to find out, hovering on the precipice of allowing him to see her struggle with where their growing friendship allowed for the desires she felt ashamed of. The red-haired huntress respected him too much to allow herself to use him, regardless of his careful admission of willingness to be who she needed him to be to strengthen her confidence in their aural bond, and willed herself to recall her assignments in great detail whenever she felt weakened in her determination to stand apart.

She had dared touch him once these last few weeks, a light weight of her hand on his shoulder as they both caught their breath after a particularly difficult training session in the vault. Recovering from the efforts of rapidly establishing and breaking their aural presence in Pyrrha's forest haven, Ozpin had borne the brunt of a difficult exit from their shared awareness and Pyrrha felt him carry the burden away from her as they struggled to grip reality once more. They had improved on sharing an equal amount of the connection, Ozpin handing a little more control to Pyrrha nearly every session, but she had stumbled and allowed the pines to fold in on their great height and crash down upon them on the dusty woodland trail. Through the fear, she emerged swiftly from their mutual meditation with trust that his hand would find her own and the firm grip on her wrist was proof in her certainty.

Pyrrha had felt his pain surge through her marrow before he swiftly snatched it from her, diffusing it as she watched him tremble in the effort. Kneeling across from each other on the cushions in the chill stone vault, she smiled and reached out to him, thanking him without a word, and he smiled back at her through his silvery fringe. Her heart had warmed and she waited with him until he was recovered enough to sit straight and provide a brief lecture on a particular bit of information he found regarding captive energies.

All of this, over such a short period of time, and Pyrrha knew no answer would be satisfying to her teammate's question: “What could get you to stay yes to someone who has tried so hard?”

“Wait for them,” she finally answered, running her fingers along her hip scarf to check for loose seams. “If they see your efforts, if they recognize your attempts, perhaps they are giving you the distance to realize what you really want. Maybe they don't want to push you into the answer you so desperately want to give them because they know the weight their answer carries.”

Jaune and Ren turned to her as she finished her answer and looked up, glancing between the two of them with a frown.

“More likely she knows she can do better,” Jaune said quietly, brushing off the insight without seeing the accidental depth his friend's answer brought with it. Ren, however, wasn't fooled and Pyrrha watched Jaune get up from his desk to flop down next to Yang and Norah in the dorm across the hall, thinking fast as her astute teammate asked, “Who is it?”

“What do you mean?” she responded without a blush.

“Who are you meeting? It must be after your lessons because you don't come back to the dorm-”

“Rarely am I ever away overnight,” she amended his statement but Ren continued without acknowledgment.

“You've been two people, Pyrrha,” he confided, lowering his voice as she started packing away her cleaning cloths. “I see the teammate I've had since our first week at Beacon, the friend I share my meals with, the huntress I train with and trust with my life. But I also see something heavy, something you're afraid of, and it always rests just behind your eyes. You carry it and you carry it well but you can't decieve me. I'm your friend.”

She breathed deep and watched Weiss flounce away as Jaune tried to strike up conversation from the stack of magazines on the floor. She weighed how much she could share before deciding on a careful answer.

“There is someone I'm conflicted about,” she said slowly, softly. “I care for them deeply, in a way I didn't know I could when I first met them, but I don't think I can call it anything more than respect. Attraction, yes, but maybe not for the right reasons. I trust them, I have to trust them, but I can't find a reason why I hold back with them, either. With all that trust, you'd think anything more would come easier.”

“I trust you with my life, Pyrrha,” Ren answered after a little while, turning back to his assignments to give Pyrrha the privacy she needed as a tear started to drift down her cheek. “You trust me with your life, too. Teams here are meant to put that trust to the ultimate test – we have the very real possibility of never returning from a mission once we graduate. Our parents are proof. They trusted their teams but, one day, trust couldn't stand between them and death. It doesn't mean trust makes everything come easy, it just means you have a foundation you'll never have to question if you're lucky enough to trust the right people.”

She regained control of her overwhelming surge of confusion and frustration, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she placed her armor on the top of her traveling case.

“Besides, we trust each other and attraction doesn't come between us,” Ren offered, still casually working on the last of his homework. “Trust takes a long time to build while attraction can sneak up on you when you didn't know you were even capable of reciprocating such feelings from another person.”

Pyrrha watched Norah playfully push Jaune into a blanket trap and, as Yang rolled him up with much protest from the young hunter, Norah's laughter soared over the other voices. The red-haired huntress watched Ren stiffen and release his tension as quickly as it had bloomed across his shoulders. Crossing the room, she placed a thankful hand on Ren's shoulder and noted the absence of the racing heartbeat that had accompanied the gesture so recently.

“Thank you, my friend,” she said, trying to put every apology she could think of into the few words she could share. Ren nodded his head and completed the last of his assignments as Pyrrha crossed to Team RWBY's dorm to share a few more minutes with her friends in the bright winter sun.

 

\---

 

Pyrrha studied on the train, glancing through the wide windows to watch the cities turn into towns, towns into countryside, and open prairie give way to frost-covered woodlands. Her assignments were finished by the time the sharp whistle sounded and momentum slowed, the huntress gathering her bookbag and traveling case to join the throng on the depot platform. Traveling by train was far more affordable than an airship, even though it was considered to be a lesser-man's form of transportation.

Her winnings from various tournaments and appearances were set aside in interest-accruing accounts, credit to be untouched by her or her Auntie May until Pyrrha graduated from Beacon. She had a small allowance and access to Aunt May's account for emergencies but no indulgences were to be had from her beloved aunt's meager savings. Weiss had offered to take Pyrrha in her own private airship, as her route to Atlas would take her close to Pyrrha's home, but Pyrrha declined as graciously as she could. Although she appreciated the generosity, she didn't want to know what Aunt May would have to say about arriving in a Schnee luxury transport.

Eagerly, she sought her aunt in the crowd, finally finding the short older woman near the edge of the platform, standing part from the noise of families welcoming students back for a brief but well-deserved break from training. Her beloved aunt cringed against the cold wind, grey-flecked brown hair escaping from a loose braid winding down her slumped back, a woven scarf clutched tight around her neck with one twisted hand. The other hand, bent like a claw, curled around the handle of a rough-hewn cane. Her face was lined, creased from a lifetime of laughter and hard work – Pyrrha's mother had three sisters and Auntie May was the oldest by nearly a dozen years – and she had survived all her sisters, as well. She was struck with a malady that twisted her limbs and made movement difficult on all but the best days, never quite recovering full mobility with her left arm and leg after a terrifying spasm several years ago. It aged her beyond her years and added an elderly care to her motions.

“You must go save others,” Aunt May had insisted as Pyrrha nearly begged to stay with her, the offer of acceptance from Beacon Academy laying open on the table between them. “I don't need saving. I'm right here. You are meant for more than hovering over an old maid.”

It seemed longer than two years ago, nearly a figment of imagination rather than memory, and Pyrrha melted into her Auntie May's arms as she ran to the woman on the platform. Indeed, she had been training for something more, preparing for a power that would protect Remnant itself, and she finally cried for herself as Auntie May held her tight.

 

\---

 

“What are they feeding you at that school?” Auntie May fussed, insisting on another serving of stew as Pyrrha sat in the old kitchen chair in her coziest pajamas. “You've not a scrap of fat on you!”

“We practice hard,” Pyrrha smiled, comforted by the familiar presence of fieldcats as they wound their way around her chair legs. She inwardly cheered a brief vision of the slinky creatures snatching up the footstool fieldmice and carrying them off into the shadows of Ozpin's private study. “Auntie, I'm going to roll away into the woods if I eat any more.”

“Well, have some tea,” was the response as the worn woman placed a sachet of herbs into a cup of hot water, her shaking hands sloshing a bit on the farmhouse table as she handed it to Pyrrha. The huntress-in-training was alarmed to see her aunt so much worse than she remembered, so frail, and Aunt May turned away as she saw the emerald eyes widen at her trembling.

“We won't have any of that,” she admonished, taking a cushioned seat near the kitchen hearth. “Now is a time to celebrate, not fret over things we can't control. Come, tell me about your adventures since I saw you last.”

In the warmth of the small kitchen, Pyrrha asked for a story instead, a story she hadn't heard her aunt share in many years.

 

\---

 

Resting in her childhood bed, running her hands over the threadbare cloth and lilac-scented sheets, Pyrrha heard the storm whistle across the house. A blizzard was picking up speed, gusting and throwing drifts of snow against the old house, and Pyrrha relished the silence of the countryside between howls from the bitter wind. One of the fieldcats curled at the foot of Pyrrha's bed stretched and yawned before settling back in over the huntress' cold toes, blinking softly at the young woman as she struggled with her thoughts.

 _Professor?_ she asked tentatively, reaching into the vastness between them. She had not sought him for conversation through their aural connection and wasn't confident he would answer her. Closing her eyes and breathing into the covers around her, she called again.

_Ozpin?_

_I'm here._

She sighed in relief, feeling a resonance building between them until their thoughts sang in harmony with the senses around them, a pleasantness she looked forward to during training but didn't dare admit to herself lest she lose her forcefully diffused neutrality.

_Are you doing well?_

She felt his light laugh, the buoyant pleasure of being sought after filling her until she smiled to herself in the dark. Occasionally, she could sense something without being able to immediately place it in her surrounding or feel an emotion that conflicted with her own, and Ozpin had casually eased her concerns that it was only normal now that one of them would not be able to keep to themselves that which they did not intend to share. Small things rather than large, like the scent of mint tea before the first sip or the soreness of a bruise forming after a hit in training, little careless concepts of the other instead of grand emotional displays of rage or joy.

 _Indeed,_ he responded, and she sensed a warm mug and the shift of a wrist as he placed his glasses on a firm surface. She deduced he was in his office, from the slight green haze in her mind's eye, and listened closely for the gentle clack of cogs whirling above him.

 _How is your Aunt May?_ He asked with all the formality expected between acquaintances and Pyrrha let slip her disappointment in her aunt's worsening condition. She could tell he knew by the subtle shift in their awareness. _Not as well as can be, it seems._

 _No_ , she answered, at a loss for words. Tears pricked her eyes and she immediately regretted reaching out in hopes of comfort. She could only seek advice. _I don't know what to do for her._

 _She is a brave woman who raised a brave woman,_ he said softly. _We should all only hope to live our best lives as she does. Her ailments are not your own. Do what you can and let her guide you to what she needs._

_I should stay with her._

_You know you are needed at Beacon_ , was the response, his voice holding the firmness she needed to regain her own control. Wiping her face on her pillow, she reached to the fieldcat curled on her toes and wiggled her fingers to gain its attention. Unimpressed, the cat blinked at her before rolling away, settling in to face the far wall while twitching an annoyed tail. Pyrrha felt Ozpin's amusement and smiled in return before summoning words to share the reason she needed his presence.

_I asked Aunt May to share the story of the Maidens tonight._

_Oh, did you?_ He said carefully, his tone demonstrating his usual balance of polite interest and hungry gathering of knowledge. Pyrrha admired his manners while also understanding those who underestimated him based on those skills others considered signs of weaknesses would be sorry to cross him.

 _It wasn't any different than what she would usually tell me,_ she sighed. _I was hoping for more. Some slip of new information, something she didn't share with me when I was younger, a hint of more than we know already._

 _Your disappointment is not unexpected,_ Ozpin said. _It is still a fairy tale, a children's story, to nearly everyone in Remnant. It was unlikely your Aunt May has information that runs beyond parallel to what others share. An admirable attempt, however, at continuing your understanding._

 _Could you give me anything?_ Pyrrha pressed, feeling desperation bubble up and threaten to spill over into her connection with Ozpin. _A name of one of the former Maidens, a battle they fought, where they lived! Anything?_

 _Not yet_ , Ozpin answered after a time, hesitating. She could sense his conflict in sharing something with her before he closed off almost completely. She turned in bed, rolling to her other side and disrupting the fieldcat for the final time; it slouched off to rest on the floor and she matched the cat's mood. It wouldn't do to sulk but Pyrrha felt rather sullen about the whole matter at the moment. Settling in, she let the familiar scents of home shape her back into a semblance of her usual self.

 _I will expect you to alert me when you return to Beacon,_ Ozpin reminded her, their conversation faint and fragmented. She could no longer sense his motions or the green lights of his study. All the better, she thought, focusing on the storm outside and the cramped comfort of her childhood bed.

As she forced her thoughts to clear, the emotional exhaustion allowed the energy to drain from her limbs until she lay still enough for the cat to rejoin her. The contented purring a welcome way to end a very long day and, realizing she had developed a routine, quietly called back out into the velvet void, _Goodnight._

 _Goodnight,_ she heard in reply, kindness in his voice as she fell asleep.

 


	15. Chapter 15

The large combat classroom was empty save for the red-haired huntress. As she stretched, flexing lean muscles, she shrugged off the weight that had settled itself on her shoulders during the train ride back to Beacon Academy. After days without practice or even meditation, Pyrrha was struggling to stay in her own skin for want of movement.

There were few students staying over break and she hadn't come across a single person since she arrived that evening, crossing the West courtyard with her luggage while the sun set behind her. Pyrrha hadn't bothered to change from her traveling clothes, comfortable in her combat leggings, hip scarf, and a loose, soft top. She only brought Milo with her, dropping her things in her dormitory without unpacking and fetching her weapon before ducking into the first available open space.

The warm amber glow of the lights reflected off her spear and mechanics gleamed as she tested the response between rifle, sword, and javelin. The weight in her hands pulled the weight from her heart and she swung through the forms Winter Schnee insisted on before visiting the familiar practices that had formed her movements since her first year at Sanctum.

Weiss was one of Pyrrha's favorite sparring opponents and she paid more attention in recent weeks to how Weiss determined her glyph formations, finding that the heiress relied on instinct more often than she knew and was less by-the-book than she appeared. Her guards were admirable, stances obviously influenced by Winter's regimented training, and strikes well-rehearsed but glyphs came as easily as breathing – Pyrrha found it a pleasant challenge to face Weiss and pretended she was blocking attacks from her classmate when the lights in the classroom extinguished without a whisper.

Silver moonlight poured in through the vaulted windows, glinting off weapons lining the walls and drawing long shadows across the floor. The immense semi-circle of the combat theater was empty when Pyrrha whipped around to put the doorway in her line of sight but a shimmer caught her attention as a pale hand pulled a longsword from one of the weapon racks. No sooner did she turn than she immediately blocked a firm strike, her spearshaft guarding the blade from her jaw by mere inches. With all her force, she shoved off into a backflip and pushed her Semblance to manipulate the sword from her attacker's grip. Instead of the sharp clatter of metal on stone, the whistle of the blade slicing the air near her left shoulder warned her she had misjudged her opponent's skill and her fight was not won.

The attacker kept her turned from them, spinning every strike and requiring Pyrrha to continue her flips and rolls to increase distance between her spear and the incessant longsword. As she realized she was quickly running out of room to escape her opponent, she ducked under yet another strike and kicked at legs that kicked back, rattling Pyrrha as she blocked with her bare arm; she felt the jolt against her aura and pulled on her Semblance to knock her opponent off balance if they were wearing any metal. An array of glittering buttons tumbled across the floor and gathered around Pyrrha as she lept to her feet with her spear at the ready.

The aquiline features of the Headmaster were cold in the moonlight and Pyrrha held her breath as Ozpin tapped the tip of the sword on the stone floor in invitation to strike. His velvet coat entirely devoid of metal ornament, he was an imposing presence she had never encountered the likes of. He stared at her with hard amber eyes and she faltered.

“Professor-”

“I told you to alert me immediately when you arrived,” he answered, his voice less icy than she anticipated but nothing with which to warm his stern countenance. He took a step forward and she responded with a step in retreat, raising her guard. “Did you see anyone you did not recognize when you entered the school grounds tonight?”

“No,” she answered with honesty, “I saw no one, actually. I only just arrived a short while ago.”

“Then no one else may yet know you've come back,” Ozpin answered her, studying her stance. “I am disappointed you did not follow my instruction.”

“I didn't realize the punishment would be a blind attack in the dark,” she replied, more confused than stung. “Did you expect someone specific to arrive this evening?”

“Not necessarily,” Ozpin said, continuing to take in her form as she stood across from him with the spear now resting at her side. As she watched his eyes soften, Pyrrha realized her heart was pounding against the cage of her ribs in a way that had little to do with their spar. Forcing herself to push that fluttering feeling down to her toes, she raised her chin in indignation at his half-answers.

“Then please enlighten me.”

Ozpin smiled, enjoying her response. She felt mocked but immediately recognized his pleasure before he firmed his features back into an impassible certainty that both frightened and thrilled her. He tapped the tip of the longsword once more against the floor, insisting on her attack, and answered, “If you can disarm me, I will answer any question you wish.”

“I am certain I won't be able to do so, Professor,” she replied, warily assessing his humor.

“With that approach, you are correct,” he replied. “Try anyway.”

She rushed him, grappling while he sank to a knee to resist her force and, instead of retreating, reached for her sword arm. Muscle memory moved her to bash with what would have been her shield but she made no contact as he spun from her with an agonizingly graceful swirl of green and black. Pyrrha used the shadows to her benefit, feinting with her left before lunging with the right, seeking again to knock Ozpin to the ground with her spear.

“Come now,” he teased with a silky voice as Pyrrha sank back into the shadows to assess her next move. She spared only a moment to admire the formidable elegance with which he waited for her, bathed in the light of a shattered moon, and she transformed her spear into a shortsword as she lept. With an infuriatingly casual air, he bit her sword with his and swung her off balance. Pyrrha recovered immediately and swept in a series of attacks that were blocked immediately, as planned.

After the last anticipated strike, she flicked her wrist to return her sword to a spear and dove at Ozpin, feeling her arm scrape the edge of his blade with no more depth or pain than that of a papercut, and used her weight to pull him to the ground. Pyrrha placed her spearpoint directly above Ozpin's collar, the tip threatening to draw blood, and pinned his torso with her hips. Curling a knee to one side and stretching the other leg along the length of one of his, she anticipated his attempt to toss her and centered her balance to shift with his motions.

“You surprised me.”

“I know.”

His familiar smile warmed her but she refused to let down her guard, arm raised to reposition the spearhead directly under his chin, a hand out on his chest to balance herself as she looked down at him. Resolutely, she asked her question.

“Do I know one of the Maidens?”

Ozpin didn't break his gaze, watching her lips tighten as she held him to her will.

“Can I not convince you to ask a different question?”

“No.”

Moonlight dimmed as a thick cloud passed over the starry sky and the man beneath the huntress watched her as she tightened her grip on him in anticipation of his answer. He traced her form with his gaze and she didn't twitch, she hardly breathed, and he met her eyes with his as he answered.

“Yes.”

As the moonlight was completely obscured, the room fell into darkness and Ozpin grabbed Pyrrha's hips, swinging her beneath him and pinning her in the exact same way she had him just a moment ago. The spear clattered nearby to join his forgotten sword and he bent an elbow to lean closer to her as she lay perfectly still. The cloud passed and the light revealed her triumph, face alight.

“Who? Is it Ruby? Blake? Winter?”

“You only had one question,” Ozpin reminded softly, watching her as she sorted names and probabilities in her head; she was a joy to watch and he let her take her time to contemplate the potential of the clue he just gave her. Waiting, he saw her shelve her thoughts to realize her position.

Waves of pine and amber crashed over her and she was near dizzy with the sudden rush of his proximity. She stretched tentative fingers to the back of his arm, their elbows tight against each other as she felt the warm velvet of his jacket against her skin. He was close enough that she could feel him against her when she took a deep and shuddering breath, turning her head so she didn't betray her conflict at his nearness. She had dreamed of a moment to similar to this, wished for its continuation with a desperation she didn't yet fully understand but relished nonetheless; unbidden, he brushed the hair from her forehead with a light touch, strands tangling before he tucked them behind her ear. Just like her dream, she closed her eyes tight and savored the sensation. Fighting two primal urges, one telling her to fight and other bidding her to stay, Pyrrha shifted to raise an arm to his shoulders, to turn her head to look at him, and felt a concerning length near her hip. She stiffened without thinking and Ozpin briefly shifted to reach a hand into his pocket.

“Never far from me,” he said as he pulled out the handle of his cane, its length tucked away into the ornate grip, and she flushed as he gripped the knuckle-guard to extend the weapon. Drawing it near, he placed the tip firmly on the ground and guided himself swiftly to his feet, reaching a hand to the still-prone and extremely embarrassed huntress.

“I didn't mean-”

“I can tell you didn't,” he interrupted, clearing his throat. “Still, allow me to apologize.”

“Please.”

She reached her hand for his and regained her feet, refusing to release him. He studied her carefully.

“Do you not want me?” she asked, no tremble or tribulation in her voice and, instead, the same huskiness he fought to keep from his own tone.

“On the contrary,” he said, sharing a sense of his perspective from just a moment ago: the care in which he ran her hair through his hand, the rush of desire as he felt her hand grip his arm in encouragement, the fear that coursed through his blood as it pulsed at her soft sigh. In his recollection, she was beyond beautiful, beyond earthly, and was indeed a goddess.

Her face grew troubled and she withdrew her hand from his as he realized he had tightened his grip. Turning, she collected both Milo and the sword, crossing the room to place the borrowed weapon back with the others. Using her Semblance as she walked back to Ozpin, she pulled the buttons off the floor and into an open palm, pressing them into his as she met his eye.

“I am not a goddess, I am only myself,” she said, narrowing her eyes in thought and tilting her head as he watched her determine her words. “I won't do something, even if I want to, if it isn't for the right reasons. I want to be appreciated for who I am, not what I'll become.”

“Pyrrha,” he murmured, quickly dropping whatever he held to take her hand in his own again, but, before he could find her fingers with his and close the gap between them, to demonstrate the truth to her words, there were footsteps rushing down the hallway. She stepped away as the door to the combat classroom was thrown open and a figure paused in the doorway before entering, his silhouette betraying him before either Ozpin or Pyrrha had to guess who it was.

“She's here, Oz,” Qrow said, tension in his voice. “She was just spotted in Vale. We need to hurry.”

Pyrrha followed Ozpin and Qrow out of the room at a jog, leaving behind a scattering of small silver buttons.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought there wasn't going to be a cane joke... 
> 
> Short chapter is short because it doesn't exactly do anything. It just is. Like used twist-ties sitting in a drawer or the extra hardware in boxed furniture.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning for sensitive readers: potentially bothersome bloodshed ahead. 
> 
> This place puts the cantina to shame...

Pyrrha dashed out into the brisk winter night, snow crunching under the soles of her thin leather flats as she kept pace with Ozpin in their race to the outskirts of Vale. Qrow impatiently swept into flight, feathers fluttering to the ground to scatter under Pyrrha's sprint. This wasn't the time to ask questions, and the huntress doubted she had the breath for it, but the air was fresh and moonlight lighting their path was bright enough she didn't falter in her step. Exhilarated, she allowed her blood to sing and pulled deep gulps of winter air into her lungs as she enjoyed movement for the sake of movement, to run for the sense of motion, savoring the winter canvas around her.

Ozpin was worried, she could tell without needing to seek his thoughts, a line of concern creasing his brows as he set one foot in front of another as efficiently as any runner. He was methodical in his breathing, clinical in his motions, and Pyrrha didn't allow herself to feel foolish for her unbridled joy in running alongside him. They glanced up at Qrow as he whirled above them, the bird cawing in a request to run faster, and finally they were led down a thin cobbled street, hardly more than an alleyway. Qrow dove to the ground, rolling into his human form and drawing his weapon as he faced a rotting wooden door hidden in a crook of a crumbling wall.

“Old Man Brindlewood told me she came in asking after a room. Had a lackey with her, a green-haired girl, and was in no mood to wait while he checked on her request. Of course, he was sending me a message instead,” Qrow whispered, checking on either side of the alley if they were being watched before returning his scythe to his hip. “With any luck, she'll still be here.”

“I don't think it's wise if you join us,” Ozpin told Pyrrha as they watched Qrow knock a series into the door, wood bending under his knuckles in his impatience. “This is no place for a student.”

“I'm not staying behind,” she said, unperturbed. Ozpin set his jaw but did not rebuke her as the door cracked open to reveal a twisted face. Mutilated by innumerable scars, the man sneered at Qrow.

“Thought we told you to stay away from here,” he snarled, an oily sheen to what little hair still grew from the top of his head. “You're not welcome after what you did to Crendall Firefall last Spring.”

“Crendall had it coming,” Qrow growled. “You don't want his kind here, the trafficking slime that bring city officers down on your door faster than a herd of Ursa. I did you favor.”

“You nearly destroyed the place!”

“What was there to destroy?”

The man leered at Pyrrha, catching sight of her red hair in the dim alley light.

“She with you?”

“She's with me,” Ozpin warned from the shadows, allowing the man to glimpse his cane hilt and the gleam in his eyes.

“My apologizes, Headmaster,” the man bowed in a mockery that didn't quite cover his sudden fear. “Always happy to serve the needs of the elite, cater to appetites less understood.”

Ozpin grimaced at the disgusting man as Qrow led the way into the decrepit squalor of Vale's underbelly. Qrow's swagger suggested a sense of normalcy, adaptability to his surroundings, and Pyrrha realized why Ozpin had suggested she remain behind. The room was large but packed with an array of people she had never imagined to exist. Of those who didn't slink away when they caught sight of the Headmaster of Beacon Academy, many stared right back at them as they made their way to the long bar on the other side of the room. She saw a young woman, not any older than herself, dressed in a few scraps of cloth and sitting in the lap of the largest man Pyrrha had ever seen, wooden beads woven into his filthy beard. Men with contorted features and tattered uniforms betrayed absconders from the Atlasian military, citizens who could never return to their homes for having abandoned their kingdoms while in service. Some of the women were mercenaries, huntresses seeking fortune and selling their swords to the highest bidder, while other women were selling other things to anyone who would have them for even meager credit. A creaking staircase led upstairs and Pyrrha doubted she wanted to know what those private rooms held.

She felt a touch at her hip and realized Ozpin had guided her away from a man who did not notice the company she kept and had reached for her. He kept her in front of him, allowing her distance but well within his reach should anyone else fail to recognize what Pyrrha was quickly coming to realize as sheer power radiating from the man with amber eyes. Ozpin had seemed forbidding, formidable, when they sparred at Beacon – that was but a taste of his true capabilities as a vicious fighter.

They arrived at the chipped and stained bartop, Qrow talking to who Pyrrha guessed to be Old Man Brindlewood, and Ozpin whispered in Pyrrha's ear from behind her.

“Look for a dark-haired woman with pale brown eyes,” he shared, Pyrrha nodding to acknowledge him over the growing noise of the room. The stench from the man standing next to Pyrrha was overwhelming and she stepped backward to keep her back to Ozpin's chest, wishing she were wearing full armor with all her weapons and Dust.

 _Best that you are as unrecognizable as possible,_ he responded, sensing her heart racing as she saw shackles on the ankle of one of the men sitting dejectedly next to a cruel-looking blonde. She turned her gaze from the woman with disgust but could not find a scrap of dignity or kindness in the scene around her. _This is not a place for students._

 _This is not a place for anyone_ , she answered, brushing aside the title of 'student' with all the response it deserved. This was not the time for specific titles within a certain class of citizens – this was a time to recognize who was here of their own accord, who was not, and determine what she could do about it.

_Now is not the time. We're on a mission to find one person._

_Then when is the time?_

Pyrrha's heart broke to see the war-torn faces of men, the bruises on women guiding guests up the rickety stairway, and she clenched her fists until her nails bit her palms. When she had the powers of the Maiden, when she harnessed and controlled the magic, she would come back. No place like this would exist in Remnant again. She'd start here, in Vale, with the shackled men and women who had no other option but serve until they could escape – she would help them.

“She's upstairs,” Qrow muttered, turning from the bar and gesturing for them to follow him. A dirty flagon in one hand, the other hand thrust into a pocket, the dusty old crow led them to the stairway.

 

\---

 

The three found themselves in a narrow hallway with little light, passing doors with broken locks and stains Pyrrha immediately recognized as dried blood. She could hardly keep herself from gagging at the stench of the place.

“Sometimes I come up here and gamble, catch the gossip” Qrow said, drinking from the chipped flagon and glancing back over his shoulder at Pyrrha. “Brindlewood takes a cut from the men and women who use the rooms for their personal business. Almost anyone who's anyone knows this is where you get the good stuff, whatever stuff you use. Some of the less than legal deals by Remnant's finest businessmen have been made in these rooms. Your little heiress friend would cringe to know how often her own father-”

“That would be enough,” Ozpin cut in with a finality to Qrow's statement. Pyrrha shuddered to hear, as they passed door after door, cries of pain or pleasure that cut across the raucous laughter from downstairs. What sort of person were they here to find, that they would have business in a place like this?

“What's our plan?” she asked, unafraid to sound ignorant if it meant safety. Assumptions made for accidents and she'd been on the receiving end of enough bad decision making in training missions that she knew to create her own backup plan.

“We need to see who she's working with, who met her here tonight. If we know which faction, we're one step closer to cutting them off. It'll be an ambush.”

“Cutting who off? Who is 'she?'”

Qrow tossed a glance at Ozpin that was more permission than statement and she sensed Ozpin's disadvantage in this moment. He couldn't keep things from her any longer and Pyrrha knew this was likely another step toward finding out more about the current Maidens. Qrow led them to a doorway at the very end of the hall, turning to Pyrrha as an afterthought before he knocked on the chipped paint.

“You'll want to use that,” he whispered, gesturing to the shortened spear she was attempting to hide at her side. “If we're separated, get back to Beacon and stay there until Ironwood arrives. Don't try to be a hero.”

She warily watched as Qrow, taking one last gulp from the flagon, rapped his knuckles against the wood. Pyrrha could hear the disgruntled admonishment of a man with a high voice order someone to answer that, complaining about the service. She felt Ozpin move away from her, hiding as much of himself behind a nearby doorway, and she wondered if she should do the same rather than stand just a step behind Qrow as the knob twisted with a creak. A white mask with red streaks peered back at them as the door opened and Qrow, with a smile, bashed the flagon into the face blocking the view into the room. The masked man crumpled to the ground and Qrow kicked open the door before stepping over the prone body, dropping the handle of the ruined pottery on the man's chest.

There was a mad scramble at the gambling table in the center of the room. A tarnished and outdated chandelier, missing more crystals than it retained, swung wildly as two members of the White Fang lashed out at Qrow, one swinging with their bowstaff and the other lunging with his sabre. Qrow blocked both and kicked one into the far corner near a lounging chair; the man slumped, as useless as his counterpart in the doorway. Pyrrha extended the spear and met the terrorist's blows match for match until she was close enough to kick her foot into his hand. He dropped the weapon in pain and she swung another kick high into his jaw, making contact with a crunch of bone and that man, too, fell to the ground.

She turned to see Qrow fighting a man in a white coat, a black bowler hat perched precariously on a shock of orange hair. The man was trying to create distance between himself and the grizzled hunter, seeking an accurate shot from his cane-gun, but Qrow stayed close and landed a few well-placed blows across the stranger's face. Pyrrha looked to the only window in the room as she heard glass shatter and saw a young woman with dark hair, brown eyes flashing with fury. Her long legs ended in black stilettos, a short red dress slit up the side of her hip with a feathered clasp at the top, and her fingertips were meticulously crafted in bright red enamel. Dust-infused embellishments glowed as Pyrrha caught herself breathless in recognition of the woman escaping the room.

“Cinder?”

Pyrrha's trembling voice betrayed her sorrow, her confusion, upon meeting this woman for the first time since they were children. Would she recognize her, the red-haired huntress wondered with a flash of hope, and explain her presence in a room of Faunus terrorists? Pyrrha had her answer as the huntress in the red dress smirked, eyes narrowing as she formed a fireball in her hand with the flick of her wrist.

“Better luck next time, my dear cousin.”

A rough grunt next to her told Pyrrha that Qrow had suffered a blow and she glanced to see him hit the wall near the door, pausing to take a breath before pushing off and tackling the man in the white jacket. Qrow struggled to subdue the man and Pyrrha jumped forward with her spear, placing the tip at the man's temple. He grew still, laughing as Qrow staggered and fell to his knees. Pyrrha saw blood smeared on the yellowing wallpaper and startled at the deep crimson dripping from Qrow's fingers as he clutched a hand to his chest.

Ozpin strode into the room as he would a classroom, taking a careful look around while gripping his cane with both hands in near nonchalance, and Pyrrha wished she could despise him in this moment. Had he joined them, this wouldn't have happened. The woman in the red dress was gone, she held a criminal at the tip of her weapon as he lay across the floor, and his white coat was quickly staining with Qrow's blood as the hunter continued to kneel in agony.

“Take him,” Pyrrha told Ozpin, gesturing to the man as he laughed manically. Ozpin stood in the doorway, tilting his head at Pyrrha as she radiated fury.

“He won't go anywhere,” he answered without moving to exert force over the man at Pyrrha's feet. “Isn't that right, Torchwick?”

“Whatever you say, old man,” the orange-haired criminal chuckled, his bowler hat rolling across the floor as he turned his head to watch the Headmaster in the doorway. Hesitantly, Pyrrha lifted her speartip as he looked up the blade and into Pyrrha's face. “Hello there, pretty.”

Ignoring him, she retracted the length of her spear and ran to Qrow's side, placing her hands on his shoulders to force him to look at her.

“How many bullets?”

“Two,” Torchwick chuckled nearby. “Two good shots at the least.”

Pyrrha checked Qrow's back, noting only one exit wound, and knelt in front of him once more.

“James is on his way,” Ozpin offered, his voice too smooth and unrushed as Pyrrha startled at the amount of blood that Qrow was losing before her eyes.

“That guy?” Torchwick groaned from the floor. “I hate that guy.”

“Qrow, listen to me,” Pyrrha insisted as the hunter slumped and coughed bright red spatters across her hand. “Do you trust me to get the second bullet out?”

“I don't have much of a choice, do I?” he drawled, coughing again and taking a rattling breath as he collapsed and rolled, beginning to lose consciousness. Ironwood would have medical technology on his ship that could isolate and extract any foreign object in a matter of seconds with precision, allowing aura to cleanly heal the wound. Like any hunter with brains, until the bullet was removed, Qrow wouldn't allow his aura to heal him; Pyrrha knew some who had allowed scraps to remain in wounds and there was only festering, no relief of pain, and an agonizing death if the damage was internal. If she could pull out the metal, he could begin the healing process; if she didn't rip him up anymore than he already was, it would likely be enough until Ironwood arrived.

“This might hurt,” she couldn't stop herself from offering as she pulled his shoulders against her knees and placed his head in her lap, a hand tight over the best guess of two wounds. She felt his blood well between her fingers and choked back the sour taste in the back of her mouth as her stomach churned. Would Ruby forgive her if she killed her classmate's beloved uncle? To do nothing would be as good as to let him die and, with the focus she found only in the most grueling combat, Pyrrha exerted her Semblance with the lightness of a feather.

Not knowing if she was ripping the bullet through his organs, she held his chest to her legs with a bloodied arm, bowing her head in concentration until his greying hair tickled her nose, and she felt him sigh the last breath in his lungs as the metal made contact with her palm.

When she released the wound to grip the slug and pull it from his body, he shook in her arms and she had a vivid recollection of her Aunt May on the kitchen floor, a pitcher of water shattered around her as she trembled uncontrollably, and Pyrrha's tears wet Qrow's face as she threw the bullet away from them. She slapped her hand back over the wound, willing the blood to stay where it should, and the hunter lay limp against her.

“You've killed him, dearie,” Torchwick guffawed and Pyrrha turned her head away so no one could see her cry into Qrow's bloodied jacket, her shaking shoulders giving her away to the criminal, her professor, and the various scum peeking in from the now-crowded hallway. With a cruel and unusual sense of satisfaction, she recognized a brutal sound and knew Ozpin had beat Torchwick into unconsciousness with a swift strike of his cane.

She didn't hear the blur of Atlas airships approaching, nor the sirens as Vale Sheriffs stormed the building, or the panicked stampede of convicts and criminals as they fled. Pyrrha kept her head bowed into Qrow's shoulder, listening with every fiber of her being for a heartbeat or whisper of breath. His aura was feeble, trying to flutter away on wings that beat at her own heart, willing her to let go so it could escape into a wild blue sky.

Ironwood ran into the room and Pyrrha sensed Ozpin gesture for him to wait, felt Ironwood's horror, and she gripped the hunter tighter to her for fear he would be taken away before she could chain him again to their gory, cold reality.

“There's someone here who needs you,” she whispered, hardly forming the words as she willed him to hear her. “She needs you. Ruby needs you. You'll never see her again if you leave now. Don't leave now.”

In the space between his renewed heartbeat and first shuddering breath, she slumped, exhausted in her victory. Ironwood waved his medics to gather the hunter and, as they pulled him from her arms, she felt her hands come away sticky with his clotting blood. She was cold and shivering, beginning to realize the opponent she cheated out of Qrow's life. Ironwood himself grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, shouting something at her, but she raised her eyes as they blurred with tears without yet understanding he was asking if she was hurt.

“N- No,” she stammered, realizing his question, trying to shrug him off. She saw Ozpin's hand grip Ironwood's shoulder.

“James, would you be kind enough to escort us back to Beacon Tower?”

“Certainly,” he answered, glancing down at Pyrrha as he stood to direct his men while they took Torchwick and the collapsed members of the White Fang into custody. Ozpin offered Pyrrha his hand, a familiar gesture with such different intent just hours ago, and she stared at it with heavily-lidded eyes. Wary, disgusted, terrified, the huntress followed the scarred hand until it led to a velvet sleeve, up through an angular shoulder and jaw, and to his hardened amber gaze. She felt betrayal and it poisoned her perspective of him.

“Why did you hide instead of fight?”

“I couldn't let Cinder know my presence,” he replied simply, tilting his jaw as he assessed if his answer was satisfactory. It wasn't.

“If you had fought, Qrow wouldn't have been hurt.”

“We have no way of knowing that.”

She felt her knees ache as she began to shake harder, recalling the dark-haired woman with a brutal tease playing across her beautiful face as she held a rushing flame in her palm.

“I wasn't expecting Cinder,” she admitted bluntly. “Is she a Maiden?”

“Not yet,” Ozpin shared, asking her to take his hand again. “I promise to explain when we're back at Beacon.”

“Tonight,” she demanded, setting an edge to her order that warned as much as revealed. She was through with waiting for Ozpin to determine the pace of this masquerade and every discovery so far was won at too hard a cost.

“Tonight.”

Pyrrha stood, finding her feet without help. She stiffly walked from the room, bloody smears in her long red hair, a spear clutched in her hand. Ozpin's gaze followed her out the door.  
  


 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, we get stuck in the weeds a little bit with Blake's story but, gosh darn it, it is worth the detour. Pretty sure. I don't know, I was tired and enough of it made sense to make a chapter but the clumsy sentence structures might one day be endearing. Anything after that last chapter was going to feel like a let-down to me.
> 
> For readers who appreciate warnings: vague descriptions of an abusive relationship in this chapter.
> 
> Also, Ironwood is so extra.
> 
> Maybe one of these days I'll write something not weird. For now, we embrace the weird.

Pyrrha stood at one of the large windows in her bedroom in Ozpin's private quarters, watching the fragmented moon drift across the starry sky. She clutched her arms around her shaking torso, dried blood flaking off her skin and clothes with every movement. General Ironwood had escorted her personally from his private airship to the guest room she mentally declared her own, for all efforts to remain impartial passed with the evening's occurrences, and he told her Ozpin would send a message to her scroll when they had an update on Qrow.

James Ironwood was an absolute gentleman and it was both infuriating and comforting to the young huntress. Without a word, he opened doors and had a hand at the ready to catch her elbow should she stumble. He offered distraction in light conversation until realizing Pyrrha was hardly listening, leaving her to her crucible as she mentally burned away all pretense of returning to Beacon with the same hope in her heart with which she left.

“The first time Specialist Schnee fought a life-or-death battle with an opponent, she did not compose herself half so well as you,” he shared as they rode the vast height of Beacon Tower in the private elevator. He stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he kept an eye on Pyrrha.

“I appreciate your attempt, General, but I didn't sign up for war,” the huntress said bitterly.

“In a way, Ms. Nikos, you did. Winter did not know what her future held, only that it could become dark and perilous at any time,” Ironwood replied, watching her response. “She made a choice, same as you, to accept the harder path that led to the greater good.”

“This sounds like something Winter shared with you in confidence,” Pyrrha couldn't help but cut at the General, unable to find a balance of emotion that allowed for empathetic response to a conversation she didn't want to have.

“She could become a mentor to you, if you'd like,” he offered. “Winter provides guidance to our young women at Atlas Academy and- ”

“I'm covered in the life-blood of a man who almost died in my arms tonight,” Pyrrha interrupted sullenly, hardly recognizing her own voice as she curled tighter into herself. “I will consider any offer you could possibly make if you would just give me a moment to myself.”

He escorted her to her room in silence, sharing what little she had to anticipate, and she couldn't summon shame for the way she treated him. She couldn't feel except to know she should feel something, anything. Even the fury with which she had left Ozpin behind in the seedy tavern would be welcome because then something would make sense. Pyrrha couldn't bring herself to sit, to shower, to do anything but watch the celestial progression whirling over Remnant.

There was a knock at the door and she listlessly called for the visitor to enter, expecting the General again or even Ozpin himself, but a feminine voice asked softly, “Pyrrha?”

The huntress turned to see Blake peer around the cracked door, carrying a soft bundle of what Pyrrha recognized as laundry bag of folded clothing. Blake's face was the last she'd expect to see and, by her classmate's shocked expression, she knew she looked like a nightmare.

“How- ?”

Blake entered the room, taking in the tall bookshelves and large chairs by the empty fireplace with an admiration only booklovers would have at a time like this. She placed the cloth bag carefully on the padded bench at the end of the vast bed and crossed to where Pyrrha remained motionless by the windows. The red-haired huntress watched as pity and horror faded to a kindness Pyrrha hadn't anticipated. Blake was usually the quiet, calm, collected one in Team RWBY, the voice of reason that could seem negative, her passions fierce and fiercely protected, and Pyrrha found herself beginning to cry when Blake reached out for her.

She cried until she was unable to stand and then continued to weep as Blake held her in her arms on the floor of the chill bedroom. The day felt like a lifetime and she cried for having to leave Aunt May all alone, for the confusion that tore at her when she reached for Ozpin, for the fear she felt when Qrow was dying in a ramshackle pub on the outskirts of Vale. Pyrrha still craved the presence of the goddess-spirit and yearned for the future when she could prevent the horrors she saw but realized herself as the overwhelmed girl clinging to her friend and, for this moment, she wouldn't fight it.

The huntresses sat until Pyrrha regained her control and smiled a bit at their situation. Blake graciously ignored the mess Pyrrha had made of them both and pushed the red bangs back with a soft hand.

“Thank you for being with me,” Pyrrha said, wiping her face on the only clean part of her shirt she could find in the semi-darkness. “I didn't know I needed you until you came.”

“I had no idea what I'd find but it wasn't you covered in blood in the middle of-” Blake gestured around them “-the bedroom of my dreams, honestly.”

“Why did you come?” Pyrrha asked, feeling her puffy face with cracked fingertips, tears running bloody rivulets down her cheeks. “How did you know I'd be here?”

“Professor Ozpin,” she said, a perplexed tone to her voice that told Pyrrha she hadn't expected the request. “He asked me to bring you a change of clothes and meet you here to make sure you weren't alone.”

The two girls looked at each other, neither daring ask the other one the questions they had.

“If you go wash up, I'll be waiting right here,” Blake compromised. “I'll tell you a story about a boy named Adam and how a foolish girl found herself leading a terrorist faction of the White Fang.”

 

\---

 

Pyrrha watched the water gradually clear until she felt confident enough that no part of her had escaped vigorous scrubbing, rid of the last traces of Qrow's blood under her fingernails. She took her time washing her hair, willing her body to stop trembling, and the steam soothed her sore face. Finally, wrapped in a soft towel, she opened the laundry bag to sort through a stack of combat leggings, undergarments, various warm tops, and her other pair of worn leather flats. Blake had brought a pair of pajamas, as well, and Pyrrha placed them on the bed as she emerged from her much needed reprieve.

Blake had started a fire and, as the flames crackled in the fireplace, Pyrrha forced herself to ignore the panic welling in her throat. Her classmate sat with a book pulled from one of the shelves, two glasses of cool water waiting, and Pyrrha sat where Ozpin had sat when he told her the true nature of their connection to each other.

“I hope you don't mind,” Blake gestured at the fireplace and her book, Pyrrha smiling her first true smile in what felt like longer than hours ago.

“Not at all,” she said, leaning back into her chair and feeling the various aches, scratches, and bruises of the day continue to heal under the constant bandage that was her aura. She didn't sense the exhaustion that came with Ozpin drawing too much aura from her, just the bone-numbing weariness that threatened to force her to sleep.

“Before I begin,” Blake started as she put down the book and leaned forward with elbows on her knees, “What is this all about?”

“I can't tell you,” Pyrrha said with a sense of relief as Blake nodded and leaned back in her own chair.

“How about all this?” Blake gestured at the room, Pyrrha shaking her head and noticing Blake's cat ears twitch under her bow.

The raven-haired beauty let a minute go by, then another, and Pyrrha waited patiently as Blake started her story.

“I met a boy when I lived with my parents in Menagerie. His name was Adam and he wanted to change the world. When we were old enough, we joined the White Fang and celebrated our part in bringing a revolution to the doorsteps of those who would treat faunus as less than who we are. I fell in love and, when I was asked to lead an advocacy group to Atlas, I begged Adam to come with me. We traveled together, leading together, and our followers were our second family.

While we were trying to raise awareness of inequality within Schnee Dust Company and the dangerous conditions they placed faunus workers in, we were spit on and pushed by members of the Atlas military. When we brought these concerns, and video evidence, to General Ironwood, we were assured the offenders had been dealt with in accordance to his policy. But Adam wasn't satisfied. He led a small group into one of the mines and, with stolen explosives, caused a cave-in. Several Schnee Dust employees died, including a faunus, and no one but the other followers and I knew it was Adam's work.

That night, we fought for the first time. He convinced me our team needed one leader with one voice. Even though I had been given command by the Head of our Order, I let Adam take over. He led us to more destruction, more rebellion that involved more bloodshed. The Head of our Order labeled us as the Black Fang for our radical methods. The White Fang tried to put distance between us and them but it only caught on with the Schnee Dust Company as they attempted to make us all sound like dangerous criminals. To the rest of the world, we were still representing the White Fang and that was the way Adam wanted it, the appearance of an army at his back and the blessing of our leaders.  Adam started to harm people, including me.

I was in love. I thought I'd done something wrong and he promised he would never do it again. But he did hurt me again. Over and over again. Our group was declared a faction, a terrorist cell, and Adam refused to allow me to call home. I couldn't explain to the Head of our Order what was happening, the thrall Adam had over us, and the fear with which he ruled everyone that joined us. Members of the White Fang who believed the organization was better led by a radical young mind came and found us in the woods where we set up camp. I lived there for half a year, convincing myself that it was a good thing that our thievery and destruction had gotten us more attention than we had ever had before.

Adam would claim his violence was self-defense, then that the other person deserved it, finally devolving into harming any and every person who found themselves in his path. He stopped just hurting me and started hurting others in the camp, bringing crueler members of our faction with him into the woods where the rest of us would find bodies the next morning. They were Atlasian military, he claimed, but we rarely found someone in uniform. It was a relief when he was away and I realized I wasn't getting my people back by allowing his, or my, behavior. I was a coward and, because of that cowardice, I was complicit in every murder he committed.

I decided to leave when he attempted to bomb a Schnee transport with a passenger car. We had ruined the mech guards to get to the Dust we needed and there was no reason to place explosives but he insisted it was for the greater good of the White Fang's mission. Let them remember, he said, the loss of these people and know how those casualties would pale in comparison to how many faunus the Schnee Dust Company had killed. I cut the car from the rest of the transport and ran. I called home for the first time in almost a year and the only thing I told them was applying to a huntsman academy. I didn't want them to know the extent to which I lost our people, the willingness with which I gave up my leadership and credibility to a man who turned out to be a monster. If I couldn't fight for equality with the White Fang, I would do it as a huntress.

Ruby's uncle found me in Vale. He watched me fight off a pair of idiots who tried to rob me and recommended me to the Headmaster himself. Exemplary fighting skills and a level head, or so he said. I wasn't being level headed when I fought them – they were incapable, clumsy opponents, and I was rougher than I needed to be – but he told Professor Ozpin I was as capable as any applicant. I was accepted here and Qrow told me he would ask for a favor in the future. I didn't know what he could possibly request until just a few months ago.

I've been spying on the White Fang for him,” Blake finished, gauging Pyrrha's face for any sort of judgment or reaction. “I knew Adam was entertaining a collaborative effort with a man named Roman Torchwick, a rude and boastful person whom I knew Adam wouldn't have the slightest bit of respect for, but there must have been a third partner in this mix for Adam to keep interested. I was keeping an eye out for a woman Qrow described when I saw her talking with Torchwick and I realized she was the key to whatever they have planning.”

Pyrrha saw the dark-haired huntress mask her guilt and hide her shame, golden eyes fierce with disgust.

“Qrow asks me to keep look-out some nights in certain areas of Vale, hoping this woman or her companions show up. I watched the woman enter a hidden tavern and alerted Qrow. I saw Torchwick arrive shortly afterwards and Qrow sent a message to get back to the school. I slipped in just as Professor Ozpin sent me the message to come here to you. And I'm glad I did come,” Blake added, smiling almost shyly.

“If I wasn't so worn-out,” Pyrrha smiled back, “I would show you how horrified I am to know what you've gone through. Forgive me for being a terrible friend?”

Blake chuckled despite herself and tossed back, “Not a chance. You haven't been through nearly enough.”

The two girls laughed so hard Pyrrha clutched her side, unsure how appropriate it was to carry on like this when Qrow could be recovering just a room away.

“Something's wrong with us, I swear it,” Blake said, picking up her book from the small table and holding it for comfort. “Does anyone show up to Beacon without ridiculous amounts of trauma?”

“If they do, this school solves that problem right quick,” Pyrrha said, trying to keep the edge from returning to her voice. The room seemed colder, even with the cheerful fire, after Blake stopped laughing. The girls sat in silence and, after awhile, Pyrrha closed her eyes to rest and Blake opened her book, each comforted in the other's presence. The red-haired huntress allowed herself to drift to sleep, recalling happy memories of meals with her team, classes and assignments that went awry with Team RWBY, and savoring the fact she had real friends who would be there when she didn't think anyone would come.

 

–

 

Pyrrha startled awake when she heard her scroll beep from across the room and Blake nearly jumped out of her chair at her friend's reaction. Picking up her book from where she had practically flung it to the ground, Blake watched as Pyrrha remembered where she was and what had happened to lead her to this chair in front of the smoldering fire. She watched the horror and relief cross the huntress' face.

“You're safe,” Blake consoled, leaning forward to place a hand on Pyrrha's knee. “You're safe and I'm here with you.”

Pyrrha let her hair fall across her face as she held a hand to her mouth, trying to make the movement as casual as she could but fighting back nausea when she remembered she was dreaming. A black bird was missing his wings, unable to fly as the shadows sang a haunting song that lured Pyrrha into the darkness, and she shuddered to recall it.

“I'll only ask once more and then I'll never ask again,” Blake said, watching her friend carefully for any hint that she wanted to change her mind on her secrecy. “What is going on?”

Green met gold and Pyrrha looked away, shaking her head. Blake placed her book next to her empty glass of water and crossed the room to grab a hairbrush from the bathroom and Pyrrha's scroll from the bedstand. She placed the device on the table next to Pyrrha as she motioned for her classmate to sit up. Taken off guard, Pyrrha sat forward in her chair, feeling her muscles and joints complain after resting in such an uncomfortable position. Blake found a quasi-comfortable perch on the arm of the padded chair, untangling Pyrrha's hair with deft fingers.

“You're really gentle,” Pyrrha said softly, never having had a girlfriend who had done so much as Blake had for her this night. The sun was a hint on the horizon and the moon had long since disappeared, both women watching the grey dawn though the windows across the room.

“With Yang, would you be anything but gentle?”

“Yang lets you brush her hair?”

Pyrrha felt Blake's hand hesitate and could practically feel the blush radiate from her friend as she resumed her task at tidying Pyrrha's flame-red waves.

“She does.”

The violet-eyed fireball of a woman, so particular and protective of her hair, allowed Blake-

Pyrrha understood and didn't say anything, reaching unsteadily to place a knowing hand on Blake's own before the dark-haired huntress went back to her task.

“I don't think she knows,” Blake whispered, focusing on a damp tangle. “I don't know what the others would think if they found out, anyway. Maybe it's best-”

“Let Yang decide that,” Pyrrha said, taking her own advice and realizing her confidence in the path ahead. “We don't do the ones we care about any favors by deciding these things for them.”

“You're becoming as cryptic as Professor Ozpin,” Blake grinned tenderly, feeling her friend tense and regretting her words.

“It rubs off, I suppose,” Pyrrha shrugged, saying something for the sake of ending the abrupt silence. She ignored the alert on the scroll pointedly and Blake started a braid with gentle hands.

“We'd have a house in the woods,” Blake said, dreaming as she shared a piece of her heart, racing the arrival of the sun. “She'd make me bookshelves and I'd fill them. I'd make her dinner and we'd watch her favorite movie. She'd insist I come with her on the back of her bike and I'd feel ridiculous but I'd hold on tight and enjoy how happy she was to be outside on a warm summer day.”

Pyrrha felt Blake's hands against her neck as she worked on the long hair, a rhythm established that lulled the huntress into a vision of a riverbed and wildflowers. How long since she had last meditated on her resting rock?

“We would have all the time in the world to figure out what we wanted,” she joined in, Blake's hands weaving back and forth down her back. “I'd live near a lake, or a river, and watch the animals come drink. He'd bring me a cup of tea and I'd know how he liked his. My Aunt May would live nearby,close enough that I'd know when she needed me, and I could be with her when she wanted company. I would know in absolute certainty what my future held and we wouldn't be trapped by what was expected of us. I'd sleep through the night, knowing my friends were safe.”

As the few wispy clouds in the sky started to glow orange, streaks of pink and purple creating one of the most beautiful sunrises Pyrrha remembered, Blake tied the end of the simple but elegant braid with the ribbon from her own hair. The huntress felt Blake's hand on her arm and she braced herself to pick up her scroll.

“Qrow was hurt tonight,” she admitted, drawing strength from her friend to sort through what rumors would eventually be revealed as truth. “I'm sure Ruby and Yang will find out soon but please know I tried as hard as I could to help him.”

“They won't know you were there,” Blake reassured, Pyrrha knowing better. The truth would always come out, no matter how Pyrrha wanted to hide behind her lies and deceits. Guarding a secret that men and women had died to keep, the huntress swallowed her consideration of allowing Blake to know everything. Although her heart called out to share the burden, ease the loneliness, have a familiar confidant... Pyrrha couldn't ignore the fear for her friends if she were to put them in mortal danger. Weighing the burdens, she knew full well that the knowledge she had allowed a friend to risk themselves and die for her secret would be far worse than any fleeting sentiment.

With a deep breath, Pyrrha glanced at her scroll to read the message that flashed impatiently for her attention. She dismissed the alert and, when Blake raised her eyebrows in concern, the huntress tried to reassure her friend as the room was flooded with morning light.

"I have some family matters to attend to."

 


	18. Chapter 18

“How long have you known?”

Cogs clattered overhead as Pyrrha entered the Headmaster's office, green shadows faintly swirling on the pale marble while the thin morning sun threw itself through the floor-to-ceiling glass. A handful of odd artifacts sat in the few shelves nestled into the walls, the office a stark contrast to Ozpin's textured private study, and the vast room gleamed with Atlasian technology. She crossed the room and her fury, barely contained, burned in her muscles as she forced herself to stand like a waiting student rather than march up to him nose-to-nose.

Silhouetted in the sunlight, warm rays lighting his figure, Ozpin didn't turn as Pyrrha entered the room. She could feel his calculations as she knew he could feel her anger, dismissing his temptation to spin the truth as soon as she felt him reach for the easy falsehood. Knowing he had briefly considered lying to her, she grimaced in disgust. This man she had no other choice but trust with her very life was proving himself to be less than worth the trouble of knowing him.

“Did you sleep- ”

“How long have you known?” she repeated, dismissing his canned niceties. As he looked over his shoulder, the huntress saw weariness pinch his face and narrow his gaze.

“Qrow is recovering, how kind of you to ask,” Ozpin said, skipping over Pyrrha's frame without a hint of malice in his voice but a chill glint in his eyes. She realized his simmering frustrations and assessed him as an opponent – this was not a battle she would win should she continue her challenge. Drawing a breath, she allowed as much anger to dissipate as she could release along with the tension in her shoulders, forming her body language with a considerate tone.

“General Ironwood has graciously agreed to allow him as a guest in the finest hospital in Atlas.”

“Of course, sir” she answered, respect and manners winning over the newly hollowed landscape of her emotional range. “I am glad to hear of it. I'd like to request leave to accompany Ruby and Yang to visit him, if I have your permission.”

“Your classmates have already left,” Ozpin replied, continuing his survey of the world below the tower and keeping his back to the huntress as she sorted her inner conflicts. “I have no doubt they'll report on his condition when they return to Beacon. We, however, need to refocus on a larger problem ahead of us.”

They stood without speaking, Ozpin watching the city stir in the early morning rush of citizens going about their daily lives, airships and personal transports writhing through the skies and landscapes, his own school stirring with instructors crossing courtyards and students seeking friends on their way to the mess hall. The vast woods and valleys glowed with light, a hundred different shades of warm winter browns, blues, and reds glittering with a faint touch of frost that would soon melt under the promise of a full day of sunlight. The perfectly clear sky was vast and Pyrrha felt she would fall through the tower glass and drift away on an icy gust into that endless blue. She sensed her impatience flutter between them and, if he would not start their conversation, she would.

“Cinder has never reached out to me,” Pyrrha shared, digging into her memories for the cruel cousin who would tease woodland animals to their deaths. “Her mother, one of my aunts, died of an illness when Cinder and I were young. My parents had just passed the winter before and Cinder rarely came to visit Auntie May and I. Her father would make her spend a week with us in the summers and I dreaded her as much as I wanted her attention. It was lonely and Cinder was just a few years older, not too old to keep from running in the woods but not young enough that I understood all of her. She was quiet in her own ways.”

“When did you know she was different than others?”

Pyrrha thought about this, unable to find the start of her wariness when it came to Cinder and her cousin's twisted smile. Cinder had been beautiful even in youth, the forest fay, a dark-haired girl who watched Aunt May with cold brown eyes as she sat at the table with Pyrrha as their kindly aunt served them dinner. Cinder never allowed Pyrrha to join her under the covers of the guest bed and rarely sought Pyrrha's bedroom late at night, only waking her to share a vague idea of what she wanted to do the next day. It made Pyrrha feel sick in fear for her forest sanctuary. Cinder liked when the squirrels and rabbits squirmed under her stolen kitchen knife and Pyrrha refused to accompany her as she grew older, secretly wishing the woods would swallow her cousin and never return her.

“Aunt May had three sisters and she was the oldest by quite a stretch. Her next oldest sister never had children before she died. The second youngest sister was Cinder's mother and, as far as I knew, Cinder never wanted for anything. She would scoff at how Aunt May and I lived so far away, so deep in the countryside, and never actually wanted to visit us. After my mother, the youngest sister, passed away, I suppose my aunts wanted Cinder and I to feel more like close-knit family than distant relations. Cinder didn't talk about her mother and didn't cry the way I did after her own died. She wouldn't talk about it but she also never grieved in front of me.”

“How did her father die?”

“I don't know,” Pyrrha answered truthfully. “Aunt May said it was poor manners if I were to ask. I think she knew but she has never told me. Cinder stopped visiting after that summer, disappearing without a message.”

“I find it hard to believe you or your kind-hearted aunt would not seek the girl out?”

“Aunt May asked the local hunter to search for her. He kept an eye out on us and promised to return with any news should he find her but he came back several weeks later with nothing whatsoever. Aunt May refused to let me go after I offered to look once. She said Cinder was a smart enough girl to take care of herself and I never asked again.”

Ozpin glanced again over his shoulder and saw her luminous green eyes looking back at him, reproachful at his distance and wounded by her own expectations.

“Did you ever suspect she had nefarious plans?”

“I didn't know she'd keep the company of the White Fang terrorist faction,” Pyrrha said. “The Black Fang wouldn't immediately seem to me like the sort of people she'd seek. Cinder wasn't kind but she had haughty expectations of those around her. Professor, did you know any of this about her? Before right now?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “I didn't know how much you knew, however, and wanted to reconcile your recollection with what I've gathered about her.”

“What do you suspect her of? Why has Qrow been tracking her?”

“I believe she has done great harm to the world,” Ozpin stated without turning, Pyrrha growing increasingly frustrated. She could feel him warn her against coming closer and she leaned back into her stance rather than continuing her reach to join him. She bit the innermost part of her lip and contemplated what evil Cinder had done to illicit the attentions of some of the most powerful hunters on Remnant.

“Such as?”

“We believe she killed the last Fall Maiden.”

A breath, then another, then another as Pyrrha found herself taken aback. To be related to a suspected murderer was an abominable connection she wished she could sever with the ease of slicing with her spearhead. The death of one of her professors, the very reason the Fall Maiden's powers were now in limbo, were on the shoulders of her sly, cold cousin. Although she had always known Cinder's cruelty, she hadn't known the depths to which she'd sink.

And Ozpin. He had kept this from her, knowing who Cinder was and what she had done in the past to evoke a careful watch. He had likely known for months, well before approaching Pyrrha with the request to become the next Fall Maiden, and hadn't shared that her predecessor had died under the hand of her relative. She had given him her kindness, her attentions, spent countless hours learning to carry the burden of the aural trance unique to only them, and had considered sharing what few thoughts, fears, and joys with him that she still had to only herself.

“I believed she would perhaps follow you to Vale on your return to Beacon,” he explained briefly. “Qrow and his watchers were on guard as you came back from your visit home. It was why I insisted you contact me when you arrived.”

“I didn't realize you'd keep so much from me,” Pyrrha said with a touch of disappointment, dismissing thoughts of her cousin to focus entirely on the tall figure before her. “I expected more from a man who champions honor and friendship.”

“To tell anyone would be to risk the security of this school.”

“Am I anyone? Am I not worth your trust?” Pyrrha couldn't help her voice from shaking as she gestured at Ozpin, even as he continued to keep his back turned to her. “What could risk everything around us more than the powers in that cane?”

“I am your friend, your companion,” Ozpin stated, “But I cannot stop being your Headmaster. As long as this tower stands, my duties must allow for the growth and consideration of every single person who seeks their way at Beacon Academy. I have already failed at protecting the school at a time when I misread the signs, mistakenly put every person here in danger because I did not understand the outcome of my actions. There is nothing to stop you from treating me as a fool but I would ask your respect for my station, even if is but a hint of your former perspective of me.”

Ozpin, failing in his attempt to articulate the depth of their connection, turned away again and closed his eyes as he found his determination to build a wall between them. His vulnerabilities had put Pyrrha in unnecessary danger, his comfort in her presence causing a familiarity he wasn't sure he could step back from without compromising their task ahead. Ultimately, the powers of the Maiden were not safe until the huntress behind him could bear their weight and their energies were distracted from the task. He felt her terror as Qrow suffered, her disgust when she believed him to be hiding from the fight, her fury when she left Blake Belladonna and stirred the fire in her breast as she made her way to him. These were not things he recognized as typical traits in the red-haired huntress standing in the middle of his office. Perhaps the hint of righteousness, a whisper of guilt, or the fear for her loved ones that any compassionate person would feel when contemplating challenges ahead, but never the discord between them before now.

Pyrrha wondered if the helplessness that beat against her was entirely her own and was careful to close her awareness of him in her heart. He had never spoken of the brief but trying time he dropped the protections on Beacon in his inability to both protect the school and heal himself. There was a distance between them that was far beyond the space between their frozen forms in the tower and Pyrrha could not quite regret the anger and disgust with which she had marched into his office. The lines between them had never been so blurred; she didn't know exactly what she wanted but she did know it wasn't to return to passive and informal interaction. He had called himself her companion. All this time, he had assured her she would have what she needed to find her way and now, as he threatened to take it away, she knew he was keeping more from her than just his knowledge about Cinder.

“I apologize for misunderstanding the nature in which we must speak to each other,” Pyrrha said, unable to keep the edge from the true reply that fought to find a voice.

“Your genuine attempt is appreciated,” he responded. “As I've said, I cannot shirk my responsibilities to this school, nor can I place Remnant in a precarious balance without all four Maidens. There are some who begin to suspect not all is as it should be.”

Pyrrha felt her blood chill and her mental clarity fog as she anticipated Ozpin's next statement. She had wondered herself, in the elevator with General Ironwood just hours ago, if this was a potential reality but thought she knew the Headmaster better than to dare suggest it, much less command it.

“General Ironwood has offered you a place at Atlas Academy,” Ozpin stated without looking at back at the huntress as he slowly walked the length of the wide window behind his desk. “I have recommended your placement in their highest invitational academic courses and your training will no doubt thrive under the ministrations of their Deputy Headmistress.”

Ozpin anticipated the strike in her gut at the news but, despite Pyrrha's best attempt to keep her response from flooding them both, he had completely underestimated the desperation that enveloped them. He didn't need their soul-bond to understand her reaction, her pain written across her face as her mouth widened in a horrified reply.

“I've always wanted to come to Beacon,” she said softly, heart breaking as much as if he had reached directly into her ribs and pulled it out to show her the tattered remains. “My friends are here, my team...”

“You will be safer,” Ozpin replied, standing in the emerald shadow of a forked wheel spinning high above him. Gears clicked as they sent a giant pendulum swinging and Pyrrha felt the weight as though the clockwork mechanisms had fallen upon her. As she clenched her fists to wrestle her emotions back into check, several gears shifted on their spindles and ratchets creaked as they bent under the influence of her Semblance.

“I won't go.”

“You will still see your team at the Vytal Festival,” Ozpin reassured, brows furling as he watched the huntress wrap an arm around herself, a hand clasped over her eyes as she took a shuddering breath. “You will no doubt qualify with ease and will return to compete in a few months time.”

“No.”

“We will continue your training in the General's presence at Atlas; as he has temporarily stepped away from his daily responsibilities at the Academy, Specialist Schnee will oversee protections on our training space. You will adapt to Atlas as you have to Beacon and you will even be closer to your Aunt May. As I understand, it is quite the- “

Pyrrha's sobs overwhelmed him and he felt her grief rip at them, her loss crushing his resolve for distance. He hesitantly crossed the floor and, had she noticed, she would marvel at this display of doubt from a man who was well-known for his formidable sense of certainty. The sun was harsh and threw itself on the newfound angles from bent and broken mechanics whirring sickly. Time, usually so ordinary and reassuringly consistent, clicked away in a halting syncopation as Ozpin looked pityingly upon the huntress bowed in sorrow before him.

“Perhaps I was wrong to offer what I did,” he whispered, feeling his words sink into her as she didn't even attempt to restrain herself. Waves washed against him and he felt a remorse for this course of action, even as he hoped it was the right decision. “I truly apologize for my mistakes, Ms. Nikos. Please accept my promise that I will do better by you and your training.”

“Don't-”

She pulled away as he reached for her shoulder, his fingers trembling and skin flushing as though he were stung. Her sense of loss at rejecting his touch was unexpected, her tear-stained face cutting to his core as she glared at him. The headmaster felt her shame, her recollections of his calming voice as she struggled to navigate their rigorous training, her torn morals on fearing using him for her own gain while also yearning for his closeness. He sensed the things she had kept from him with a skill of deception almost as skilled as his own and Ozpin knew he wasn't determined on this course of action now that he knew the authenticity of his betrayal.

“I was wrong to believe you,” she mustered, pulling back again as Ozpin reached for her in a gesture of support. “It took so long, so much to consider, and this- This is what comes of it. You offer with one hand and deny with the other.”

“Until this moment,” he said, pleading, “I didn't know.”

“Didn't know?” she cried, pulling away again and feeling foolish in her complete lack of emotional control. “I can't believe you when you say it. You keep things from me that, had I only known, I could help find solutions for. You assume I'll obey, that I'll go quietly in danger, because I have you with me. I go into danger with the expectation I will be the only thing between what is wrong and what is right and I do that without your help. I don't accept your offer to transfer and I do not accept your presence in-”

Pyrrha caught herself before she finished that sentence, standing squared to Ozpin and looking at him as he pitied her. She didn't want his remorse, his failed decisions on her behalf.

“Is it possible to break this aural trance?” she asked, clenching her jaw. “That I could never sense you again if I were to walk away and never return to Beacon?”

“I- I do not know,” he hesitated.

“Could you find another Fall Maiden if I were to leave?”

At this, Ozpin's gaze hardened into a warning as Pyrrha found exhilaration through the wreckage of her heart. It was a different rush, a dare that could only end in disadvantage, but it was the control she so desperately needed over their situation that she answered his response with a slight raise of her chin.

“We are running out of time to change our minds, Ms. Nikos,” he said without hesitation. “Something dark is coming and we do not have the luxury to leverage the entirety of Remnant-”

“Our souls are not luxuries,” she snapped and, even as she said it, she realized she had never raised her voice to another person in such a way. It made her sick with herself to stand and argue, to talk like this, and she turned away to break from his sharp amber eyes.

“My priorities are obviously disarranged,” she said calmly.

Pyrrha stood still as Ozpin walked around her to look again into her eyes. He reached out a trembling hand and she allowed him to touch her shoulder, then her cheek. She stared back at him, tears welling in her eyes as she thought about having to leave Beacon Academy.

“What did I do wrong?”

“You didn't do anything wrong,” Ozpin murmured, catching a tear as it trickled across her skin. “I have to keep you safe, as well as this school, and I realize I can't do both.”

“I'm not leaving, Ozpin,” she answered, wrenching the words from the bottom of her soul. “If you send me from here, I'll lose part of what makes me the person I am. I've spent my life looking for the friends I have now. If you send me away, I don't know how I can let you in again and not resent you for making this decision for me. Everything we've accomplished so far will be for nothing.”

He watched as she clenched her eyes to send more tears streaming down her cheeks and over his hand. Each sparkled in the morning light and Ozpin felt his resolve weakening. What had he done to them?

“Pyrrha, I cannot keep you safe,” he repeated, urgency bending to pain.

“When I am the Fall Maiden, I won't need you to,” she answered.

“We're not ready.”

“If what is coming is as bad as you think it is,” she said, looking up into his eyes and gripping his hand against her face with her own. “We'll need to be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my rear. Just, blah.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest. Flashback. Ever.

The patchwork landscape beneath the airship glowed dusty purple as the sunset shifted shadows along the long lines of the luxury cruiser. Pale blue ribbons streamed behind thin metallic wings and the sleek insignia of the Headmaster of Atlas Academy blazed across the skies, pilot and passengers determined to reach their destination before the last of the light left the land below.

As Pyrrha packed her textbooks back into her bag, she heard Ozpin wrap his conversation with the pilot, catching a glimpse of him leaning casually on his cane as he easily bantered with the soldier chauffeuring them Atlas. One of Ozpin's many gifts was the necessary illusion, she thought to herself, double-checking an essay for Professor Oobleck before tucking it away. The Headmaster of Beacon Academy could become a menacing figure in the space of a heartbeat or a grand old friend in a breath – his shapeshifting was a falsity, a skill to influence others as needed, and Pyrrha noticed the ease with which he became what he had to be to gain the upper hand in even a simple conversation. Right now, he was charming the soldier out of information, whether or not the soldier knew it, and the red-haired huntress was certain the effort took just a fraction of Ozpin's attention. She could feel his mind work through problems, possibilities; she didn't know what they were and she was thankful for only the vaguest sense their connection brought her in moments like these.

Since their fallout in the Headmaster's office, they had come to certain agreements and considerations of the other, few of them easily won. Pyrrha had asked Ozpin to swear never to attempt to send her away, to never presume to make that sort of decision for her ever again, and to abandon the idea of needing protection to such an extreme as had failed their trust in each other. In that golden morning light, he had taken her hand, his own still wet with her tears, and promised.

“You realize that I can only strive to keep these promises as any man would,” he had said ever so softly, leaning to graze her knuckles with his breath. “I'll ask you to remember I am only a man, capable of more wrongdoing than any man, woman, or child in this world, but it will not be for lack of trying.”

Soft lips brushed the back of her hand and the innocence of the gesture was lost as he caught her eyes with his, gazing at her through wisps of tousled silver hair. A sharp cut of desire flashed through her before she was able to contain it; it was as though she had shouted a secret and Pyrrha's face flushed until she could control her embarrassment, as well. Ozpin would normally let her regain her perimeters and comprise herself, allowing her distance and time without further distraction, but he instead took a step towards her and closed the space between them. As he curled her hand through his own, he brought their tangled fingers to his breast, velvet jacket warm to the touch. The closeness reminded her of their first session in the vaults of the academy, the subtle scent of pine and amber dancing with the beat of her heart, and she almost closed her eyes against it.

“Pyrrha,” he whispered, playing with her name in a way she didn't know was possible to feel along her spine. “Don't keep these secrets to yourself.”

“I wasn't aware I had been successful in keeping them,” she had answered, nearly breathless at his proximity. She kept her eyes focused on the heartbeat at his throat, the light drifting across his jaw, and willed herself not to shake.

“Until last night, I assumed you struggled with the perils of youth,” he muttered, stroking the pad of her thumb with his own. “Desire without a focus, like anger or joy that spring from nowhere to disappear just as fast. I beg your forgiveness in my failure to recognize the true meaning in those moments.”

She tentatively reached out with her other hand to slide her fingers across the soft velvet jacket, settling across his ribs and tracing a seam with her fingernail. Her trembling came and went as she felt the heat of him so close to her, waiting for his response, and he brought her hand back to his lips. When she felt him kiss every knuckle, his breath raising the hairs on her arms as desire shot through her once more, she dared look up into his eyes.

“Do you want this?” Ozpin asked gently, sensing her hesitation and mistaking it for a change of heart.

“I don't want you to feel as though-” she paused as she acquainted herself with his other hand on her hip - “you need to.”

Her indecisiveness melted away when she allowed him to sense her confusion, her warring thoughts on whether she wanted this because she feared the Maiden's power would strip her of her uniqueness or if she was just feeding into a proposal made months ago in front of a fireplace so late at night. This man had seen inside her heart, shared her soul, and now stood waiting for her answer.

“I'm yours if you will have me,” he whispered, hardly finishing before Pyrrha tilted her chin to place her lips at the corner of his mouth. She didn't have to wait for his own response, his fingers tightening reflexively around her hand, her waist, and she felt his surprise, relief, and pleasure flash in a whirling array of emotion. During their aural trances, when he shifted the burden of their connection to her and taught her to carry the weight with growing ease, she had never felt him lose even the hint of control; Ozpin was untouchable, undeniable, and impossibly skilled. Now, she hummed with his uncertainty as he shared with her his own fears and insecurities, even as he kissed her again with such tenderness as Pyrrha couldn't have imagined.

His worries mirrored her own: the hesitation to lead her to a decision she didn't want, the awareness of their differences and increasing presence in her daily life altering his perception of her from huntress to companion, even the surprisingly bittersweet fear of rejection and loss. What had started as necessity, an offer to achieve a goal with everything available to them, became daydream, desire, hope. Before he pulled his emotional turmoil from her awareness, she felt the moment he became aware of his want for her and the struggle to make sense of it himself.

Daylight poured over them as she pulled away, the depths of his amber eyes catching the light and warming her even as she felt herself flush at the exhilaration of his hand wrapped around her own. Pyrrha reveled in his vulnerability, the sensation of his touch combining with their renewed trust of one another to create a rush that matched any victory she had had in battle. She smiled wider when he softened his gaze, almost shyly, from the hungry intensity that thrilled her.

“Pyrrha, even as we walk this path, do you see my hesitation? Do you understand I would rather wish for your education to continue elsewhere now that I have failed in my responsibilities as your Headmaster?”

“I do,” she said, tightening her grip on his hand as she felt him start to drift from her. “I want to stay here, though, as long as I can. We don't have much time left before everything changes, do we?”

Ozpin answered with a slow, somber shake of his head, both of them knowing without needing to share a word that Pyrrha's time as anything but the Fall Maiden was running short. This painful limbo left them both fighting against what they knew was ideal, breaking boundaries and crossing lines they never thought they would, but, as Qrow had reminded Pyrrha at their first meeting, nothing about this situation was was neat and tidy. She had already shared far more than her physical presence with Ozpin – their own souls were more precious than any touch. But, as Pyrrha remembered Qrow's cackle at her naivete, she also remembered his reminder that she had every choice in how she chose to resonate with the man whose hand she now held.

That morning, over coffee at the Headmaster's desk, they had a long-due face-to-face conversation. She listened and agreed as he shared his wish that they continue limiting their conscious connection to the other as much as they could while Pyrrha was in studies or with her team. She would continue her student life as unobstructed as possible given that she was already missing class to train with Winter and catching up on assignments between private tutelage in the vaults and her own meditation sessions. If she wished, she could continue visiting his study in the evenings, and Pyrrha felt his hesitation in the offer; his propriety was too strong to either encourage or deter her and the huntress stepped down the fluttering in her stomach. Their paralytic indecisiveness had taught her the value of time and, although she didn't have a qualm about his presence, she wondered how many more evenings they'd have together before it was time to transfer the Maiden's powers.

Their abstract associations with the other smoothed until Pyrrha stood to leave, unsure how to part now that so much had been said. As gentlemanly as Ironwood, Ozpin rose from behind his desk and walked with her to the elevator, their tall forms led by their own shadows as the winter sun shone as bright as ever. Pyrrha adjusted the creaking clockforms above them with partial focus, exercising her Semblance without taking her hand from his offered arm, and their grinding ceased as they kept their time once more.

Her elation lasted until she arrived back at her dormatory to a very annoyed Jaune and curious Norah, Ren giving Pyrrha a knowing look that told her Blake had had help in getting Pyrrha her things. She felt her face flush slightly when Norah asked, “Where did you sneak off to?”

“I don't know what you mean,” she said, preparing her usual excuse of having fell asleep in a training room or at the library but, before the huntress could continue, Norah's snort interrupted.

“Velvet says you weren't in the practice rooms last night. She stayed over break and practically sleeps down there herself. But she did say she saw you running into Vale last night with nothing but your spear!”

Jaune's dropped jaw allowed Pyrrha the luxury of confusion as her team leader gaped, “Nothing?”

“Not nothing like no clothes!” Norah shouted a little too loud for Ren and Pyrrha's comfort, both noting their door was open. “Just not with her armor! When do you go on a mission, especially with the Headmaster, without your armor?”

“Wait, you were on a mission? With Professor Ozpin?”

Her strawberry-haired teammate jumped from her bed to Jaune's, bouncing back and forth in her excitement, as Jaune looked to Pyrrha with such a comically contorted expression that she couldn't help but smile despite herself. Now that she couldn't directly lie, it was time to skirt the truth just enough to be plausible.

“It was an emergency,” she started, bringing her traveling case to the closet she shared with Norah. “Professor Ozpin saw me arrive and asked for my assistance in Vale. There wasn't much time and I only had Milo with me when I was heading down to the training rooms.”

“What happened?” Jaune asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed and jostling every time Norah completed a vault from her bed to his. Even Ren lowered his book from where he lounged on his own bed, the end of which was covered in Norah's clothing.

“There was a bit of trouble and he wanted a lookout,” Pyrrha said as casually as she could, tossing clothes needing laundering into a pile. “It was fortunate I was there at the right time, really. If Velvet was down there, too, I suppose he would have asked her if I hadn't just arrived.”

“Velvet said you ran out of a training room with Professor Ozpin, chasing after Ruby's uncle. What's his name? The one who... Well, you know,” Norah said, mimicking drinking deeply from an invisible flask. Ren's admonishment rolled off her like she never heard him as she resumed her course across the beds.

“You mean Qrow?”

None of them noticed Weiss standing in the doorway until she spoke, causing Norah to step on Ren and slip on her clothes to hit the floor with a bang while Jaune flung himself across his bed in a dramatic and obvious attempt to look casual.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he wooed as Weiss dismissed his boyish grin with an icy toss of her long white ponytail. Pyrrha tried to keep her shoulders from tensing, turning to greet their classmate, but realized Winter and Weiss were indeed sisters because the Schnee heiress wore an expression exactly like the one Winter gave Pyrrha when she was expecting an honest answer – no exceptions.

“You're back early from break,” Pyrrha noted, voice neutral as she noted the scroll in Weiss' hand.

“Ruby,” Weiss answered, gesturing with her scroll pointedly as Norah flopped across Ren's legs and Jaune's disappointment hung heavy in his corner of the room. “She sent me a message, asking for help, when she overheard her father take a call in the middle of the night. Her uncle is in the Atlas military hospital, near death, and she didn't have a way to get off Patch. I sent her a personal transport.”

“So, why are you back early?”

Weiss stomped her foot at Jaune as he cringed at the realization his question was ridiculous given the news they just received.

“There was no way I was going to stay at home, helpless, while my teammates need me!”

“Couldn't you have stayed with them in Atlas?” Ren asked, Jaune's face alight in sudden validity. Weiss mumbled something in response, scuffing her soft white boot against the floor as she deflated.

“Family- wouldn't let me...”

Pyrrha knew Weiss had confided to her teammates more than what Pyrrha herself knew but anyone could tell the Schnee Mansion was not a happy home. Weiss likely had more freedom at Beacon than she ever did within the Kingdom of Atlas and it would take less to be brought back to school to wait for them than it would to try to obtain permission to visit the Atlas military base. Clearance wouldn't be an issue – her own sister was among the highest ranked Specialists Atlas ever had – but her father's whim was not often in Weiss' favor.

“That isn't the point,” Weiss snapped, finding her haughty tone after the moment of exposure to her less than pleasant life outside Beacon. “The point is, if Qrow was here last night, it was likely he was hurt in Vale. Yang says Ruby won't stop crying.”

Pyrrha heard the pain in Weiss' voice, hidden as well as the young woman could but not well enough for her classmates to fail to notice. Ruby and Weiss had struck a close friendship and, when they weren't bickering over everything from battle formations to nutrition choices, they were fond of each other. The red-haired huntress startled slightly when Weiss rounded on her, sticking a finger into Pyrrha's face.

“You're not telling the truth,” the Schnee heiress stated, petulance creeping into her voice. Pyrrha looked to Ren for help but the hunter-in-training had disappeared behind his book, unwilling to face Weiss in her fury and likely trying to absorb the news himself that their classmates were in need. She sought Norah and the girl's face was nearly somber, startling Pyrrha nearly as much as Weiss' unexpected appearance. From where she was strewn over the bed, she reached down to lift the skirting from the floor just enough to reveal, to Pyrrha alone, a single gleaming button missing from a man's vest coat. Pyrrha's horrified expression was only noticed by Norah and Winter as she realized Velvet must have brought it to Norah from the classroom Pyrrha had fought in just the previous night. Norah let down the bedskirt to hide the evidence that not all was as Pyrrha had described it and gave her a concerned look that tried but failed to be supportive. Jaune glanced back and forth between them all, catching on that something was not quite right.

“Pyrrha, what's going on?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “With these training sessions and aura lessons, what did you get wrapped up in?”

She felt her face crumple, hid behind her hands, and either Norah or Weiss gripped her as Pyrrha tried to regain control. Moments flashed through her mind: cold steel glinting with pale moonlight, her form meeting another in the darkness, the beaten face of a slaved man inside a dirty hideout for thieves and scoundrels, Qrow's blood dripping from her fingertips, the fear of being sent from Beacon as she stood just an hour ago in the Headmaster's office. She felt Ozpin hesitate to reach for her, waiting for Pyrrha to invite him to share the reason for her emotional turmoil, and she turned from him with a whisper of gratitude even as she struggled to face her team.

“You don't owe anyone anything, Pyrrha,” she heard Blake in her ear, realizing it was neither Weiss or Norah with their arm around her. Her friend's presence was as unexpected as Weiss but Pyrrha couldn't have been more thankful for the quiet intensity of her Faunus friend.

“We should know what's going on!” Jaune said, his concern for Pyrrha expressed in no less intensity than his approach on the battlefield. Weiss, arms crossed, started in on him and Norah lept to Jaune's defense. As her team fought, Pyrrha realized for the second time that morning that the compromise between truth and lies was in trust – she couldn't tell them everything but she couldn't insult them with another fabrication.

“It is true I was Professor Ozpin and Qrow last night,” Pyrrha said, the chaos around her settling as she spoke. “I had just arrived and was truly on my way down to the practice rooms when I detoured to a classroom instead. The Headmaster joined me and Qrow alerted us both to a problem in Vale – we all ran to assist but Qrow was hurt.”

“What happened? Why-?”

“Why do we need to know?”

Norah interrupted Jaune as the JNPR team leader blurted at Pyrrha and all eyes turned to him in an admonishment similar to the sort Ren usually gave Norah. His face bright red, he apologized and sat quietly until Pyrrha could find her way through what she could share.

“I've been studying late,” she continued, choosing not to share Ozpin's study or anything else relating to the Headmaster. “I've appreciated what every one of you has done for me while I learn things I never thought I'd need to know. Please believe me when I say I never meant to treat anyone like a fool or hurt a single one of you but there are things I can't share. Things I have to keep secret, no matter how much I wish- . It would be easier to tell you than to keep it all in the way I've had to but I have no other choice. Please, please trust me.”

Her plea pulled the embarrassment and panic from her classmates, each looking at her with a glance that betrayed their discomfort, and Blake was the first to break the silence.

“You do what you know is right for you,” she said. “If that means you can't tell us something, then don't tell us. It isn't ours to know.”

“Blake's right,” Weiss chimed, shifting her weight as she uncrossed her arms and gestured at her teammate. “We're here for you, no matter what.”

Norah bounced over and displaced Blake, the black-haired huntress nearly toppling as Pyrrha found herself in a crushing hug. Ren's smile, silent and acknowledging, was all she needed to know and Norah's obvious enthusiasm spoke for itself but all eyes turned to Jaune as he struggled.

“Pyrrha, you're one of my best friends,” he stammered, looking at his hands as he mustered the gentleness and support they all knew he had within him to share. “I want what's best for you but I'm also afraid for you. Something doesn't seem right about having to keep secrets from your team.”

“What sort of statement is that?” Weiss snapped incredulously, Jaune waving her off as he continued.

“Of course I'm here for you, Pyrrha. I'm always going to be here for you. I just don't know who to tell to get you help.”

“I don't need to you tell anyone anything, Jaune,” Pyrrha answered, finding a soft smile for her conflicted friend. “The people who could do anything about this already know. They're part of it. I'm as safe as I can be, given the circumstances, and the risk is only to myself. You're all safe, especially if I succeed.”

Not all of that statement was true but, before Pyrrha could determine where the lie struck, Norah squeezed the last of her breath from her. A genuine laugh felt good, even without air, and Blake pulled Norah away as Pyrrha gave her a hug in return.

The huntress remembered that long day as though it were more than a week ago, a fragmented series that seemed impossible to have happened over the course of a night and a morning, but it comforted her as the airship sailed closer to the glimmering city of Atlas. Packing the last of her papers into her bag, she tucked it under her seat and sat quietly, gazing out the window at the land below. The huntress had replayed moments over and over in her head since that morning, trying to preserve their authenticity while savoring the positives that came from them. The only thing she refused to recall was Qrow, the fight that had brought him to her knees and near death as she mutilated him for his best chance at living.

Pyrrha had not had a lesson with Winter or meditated with Ozpin since break started but, now that Beacon Academy had been in session for three days, she focused those days on her team and classes. It was a semblance of normal, a return to her first year at Beacon where the most important thing had been supporting her friends through their trials and tribulations, teaching Jaune the fundamentals of combat on the roof of their dormitory, and learning more about friendship. It was almost an intrusion to see a message on her scroll that afternoon asking her to report to the West flight deck and she departed on a private ship usually used to transport Atlasian military officials and honored guests. Ozpin had been waiting for her and she vividly recalled their last meeting and the soft touch of his lips against hers before abandoning the thought to questions.

“You shall return to Beacon with me later this evening,” Ozpin said, jumping to her most pressing concern, “But our presence is required in Atlas.”

They had held a brief but pleasant conversation before Ozpin sank back into his seat to rest and Pyrrha pulled a textbook from her bag in hopes to study before they arrived at their destination. Recognizing his openness in allowing her to see him resting, she was thankful they had dropped the pretense of distance in favor of honesty with one another. However, when he noted she was halfway through a paper for Professor Oobleck, Ozpin excused himself to converse with the pilot. She knew he was disguising his discomfort at witnessing her student life, even as they both knew it was necessary. Now, though, as she tried to make out details in the towns below, small villages becoming cities, cities blending into the edges of the heart of Atlas proper, she resisted the urge to call Ozpin back to her, to ask him exactly why they were here. Although she trusted him to keep his word, a small part of her still fought at the idea of being transferred to Atlas Academy and another thought echoed her fears of seeing Qrow, the impossibly swift and fierce hunter, lying in a hospital bed due to her ineptitude.

She felt the airship begin the descent and Pyrrha stood to secure her shield to her back, patting Milo where it rested at her hip. She thought through how much Dust she might have in the little leather pack at the small of her back, having only prepared herself for a day of class and perhaps a quick spar with Norah before dinner rather than a trip across kingdoms in the finest airship she had ever flown in. Her mental inventory was interrupted as Ozpin approached, his formidably tall form reminding Pyrrha that, even as she one of the tallest huntresses at Beacon, he could still look down at her by several inches. His eyes were warm, assuring her, even as his mouth was set in a firm line. He held out a hand, gripping his cane in the other, and nodded to her.

Setting her hand in his, she stepped off the airship and into the glistening chill of Atlas.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't passively apologize for the main pairing any more than I already have and the groundwork has been laid over the course of nineteen chapters for as respectful a relationship as a potentially problematic pairing could have, so, there you have it: the worst excuse for "Wait a minute, I think I ship this. Oh. Oh, damn, I do. How would that work out, though?"
> 
> I'm a joy at parties.


	20. Chapter 20

Pyrrha's soft boots hardly made a sound against the pale stone mosaics that stretched the length of the atrium into Atlas Academy. Marble, streaked with onyx and shimmering strands of opal, soared from firm square pillars to vault overhead in an array of triforiums fit with silvery glass. Artistic sensitivity wove itself into every sight, a painting of a scene from the Great War or a sculpture of a well-known Atlasian Admiral, and the huntress felt underdressed and overwhelmed at the beauty around her. This was a place meant for kings and queens, not a paltry huntress hardly near her prime.

As she walked in tandem with Ozpin, the Headmaster slowing to allowing Pyrrha time to admire her surroundings at an easier pace, a large oil painting in a vast golden frame curling with ornate detail caught her eye. A gloomy scene in the midst of the worst battle in the Great War, the moment when the Warrior King of Vale swept the landscape with his vast emerald cape and decimated dozens with each swipe of his crooked scythe, was immortalized in fine brush strokes that highlighted the cruelty in the king's jaw and caught moonlight in his silvery long locks. Pyrrha's breath caught in her throat when she stopped to fully absorb the details in the painting, the pain in the faces of the defeated below the Warrior King's feet, the rallying cry of the men surrounding him echoing through history to reach Pyrrha's ears as though she stood before the Warrior King himself, and the huntress gasped as she felt Ozpin's hand at her elbow.

“James, when he became Headmaster of Atlas Academy, requested this brought from one of the museums in Vacuo, a gift to commemorate his installation to the position,” Ozpin explained, his voice so near Pyrrha that she knew she had but to take a small step backwards and turn to meet him face to face. “Surely you've learned about the battle that ended the Great War?”

Everyone on Remnant, from Mantle to Mistral, had learned of the Great War. Some knew the stories told by their grandparents, their own parents having told them of the battles they fought to protect their kingdoms and fight for the right of expression. Others knew only of the specifics taught in classrooms, a lesson or two regarding each region's role. Pyrrha herself had studied Mistral's mistake in bowing to Mantle's demands to limit its citizens rights, only abolishing Faunus slavery and restoring freedom of speech and creativity once Vacuo and Vale pushed back against the presence that threatened to colonize the rest of the kingdoms. Professor Port had once engaged Blake in a lengthy classroom discussion regarding the power of those who spoke up for the powerless rather than turn their backs on those in need – the huntress had passionately reprimanded the idea of those who would allow Faunus to be bought and sold, causing muttering from Team CRDL. Sky Lark in particular was from a family known for their role in Mantle's push of oppression and he had been beaten soundly when he attempted to fight Blake in the hallways after class.

“It was one of the bloodiest battles Remnant ever saw,” Pyrrha whispered, noting the way the artist had caught the dessert sands of Vacuo in perfect detail as they whipped around the Warrior King and his army. “It was also when the King of Vale decided to establish the Huntsmen Academies, to teach the sons and daughters of his enemies how to avoid falling in the tyrannical footsteps of their families.”

“A dark time for Remnant indeed,” Ozpin agreed, gently pulling her away from the painting and back on course to the arched double-doors at the end of the atrium. As she glanced back at the oils that gleamed darkly back at her, Pyrrha noted the sadness in the auburn eyes of the Warrior King as he forced the world into a new era.

Through the doors, which opened for them without a touch, they were flanked by more busts and sculptures of Headmasters and famous figures in Atlas Academy's history. The stone floor was flecked with shimmering blue scales that darted with the slightest change of light, pale creams and greys running like water beneath Pyrrha's feet, and she noted the reverence this room evoked on the way to the Headmaster's office. She saw General Ironwood's sculpture near the end of the room, closest to the next set of doors, and noticed a pale lily cradled in one hand, an alabaster scepter of office wound with ivy in his other hand. He wore a simple crossed robe that fell across his broad chest and his features were so skillfully defined that Pyrrha could hardly mistake him just by a glance. Iconography was repeated in various forms around the doorway and across the arches and pillars, certain plants and symbols carved into the breastplates of generals and through the hair of headmistresses.

“Atlas carries a proud history,” Ozpin explained, both of them setting eyes on the new block of marble resting upon a dais near General Ironwood's own sculpture, the half-carven form of Winter Schnee nearly leaping from the confines of stone. A dancer's foot touched a toe to the floor without losing the confident and powerful thrust of her midsection as an arm draped a portion of her robe to flow along a long and lean muscular leg. Only a portion of Winter's face was completed, a corner of her jaw and ear visible from where they stretched from the marble block that hid the rest of her. “She will become Headmistress when the sculpture is finished. With the exception of the time it takes for all talented artists to create their masterpieces, the process will take as long as she wishes. James is still currently responsible for the overall success of the school but Specialist Schnee will continue to shoulder new burdens until she determines it is time to step into the role absolutely. When her statue is complete, so will be her installation as Headmistress”

“I thought the school and the military have always been led by the same person?”

“Not always,” Ozpin answered, settling his hands on the top of his cane and admiring the waterfall of fabric from Winter's arm with an appreciative eye for craftsmanship. “Although it has been quite some time since the responsibilities have been split. A sense of pride, or perhaps ego, have traditionally bound the two roles to a single authority. When you have as much prestige as a powerful kingdom can offer, would you willingly let go of what sets you above others?”

“If you knew for certain you were passing those responsibilities to the right person, yes,” Pyrrha said, wondering what motif Winter would carry on her immortalized form. The moment struck her and her heart constricted at the realization of how she had just defined her own journey. The sound of oiled hinges next to them pulled her from her emotions as she turned to see General Ironwood smiling at them from the doorway.

“Welcome to Atlas Academy, Pyrrha Nikos,” the General said with a slight bow. “I'm pleased to see you've arrived safely.”

“Good evening, James,” Ozpin said, answering with a respectful tilt of his head. “As much as I look forward to our dinner and conversations, would you please escort us to the vaults?”

“Wouldn't you rather eat first?” Ironwood asked, playing the role of host with such a convincing tone that Pyrrha secretly wished they could delay whatever trip down into the school awaited them for the preference of a hot meal.

“I'd rather complete the most sensitive portion of our evening first,” Ozpin replied, leaving little room for argument. The General drew up his stature and nodded in acquiescence, gesturing for them to follow him back across the room of sculptures to a small relief of a lantern carved into the side of a tall dais supporting a short and portly man whose personal call to valor was now his epitaph after serving as a Colonel during the Great War. The dais swung away without a scrape to reveal a set of stairs, Pyrrha glad she dressed for the occasion after all when she noted how deep the thin, circular stairway went into the floor.

“After you,” Ozpin gestured when Ironwood stood aside to allow them access. Ironwood's features demonstrated he was humoring Ozpin despite his wish to follow and not lead. He marched down the first few stairs as Pyrrha leaned her shield and spear against the wall near the lantern that had allowed them passage. She turned to see a half-completed sculpture she hadn't noticed behind all the others, hardly visible would a visitor not know to look for it. A man with muscular legs and a hand closed in a fist stood with bare feet, his face hardly more than a rough draft with a dull chisel. A broad chest, not unlike Ironwood's, pushed out with a deep breath and it looked as though he held a portion of a broken spear in his grip.

As she twisted back to Ozpin, she saw him looking directly at her, features partially shadowed in the shifting light of the room as the shattered moon began its trek across the sky. She paused in her motion, unable to help glancing back at the abandoned sculpture before crossing back to where he waited by the stairs. Pyrrha knew she didn't need to ask, she already had the answer to why this demonstration of failure remained in the same room as the fiercest, sharpest figures in Atlasian history: nothing was guaranteed and even the strongest could fall.  
  


-

 

James Ironwood led the way down the winding staircase, a military-issue light pulled from a jacket pocket casting harsh blue light across the narrow walls. Pyrrha could see what the blue light missed by the emerald of Ozpin's own light as he walked behind her, a faint green glow reminding her fiercely of Beacon as he held the lighted globe casually between his caged fingers. They all stepped surely but swiftly, never pausing for breath. She was in excellent physical shape but still looked forward to the end of the staircase, aware they were going to need to return the same way they came.

They came to the bottom at last and Ironwood stepped aside to allow Pyrrha and Ozpin to enter a completely dark chamber, the huntress immediately disoriented as Ironwood and Ozpin put out their lights at Ozpin's prompting. She felt the General place his hand on her back to steady her, the metal beneath the glove betraying his secret – his hand was a prosthetic. Hunters and huntresses sometimes found a need for them; not all missions secured health and prosperity for all who accepted the dangers, and there was no stigma to those in Remnant who chose to use a prosthetic to compensate for injury or illness, just as there was no judgment to whose who chose not to use them, but Pyrrha could feel the technology whir and shift under his uniform when his metallic joints bent along her shoulder blade.

With a snap of his fingers and a quick gesture Pyrrha caught only by the gradual illumination around them, Ozpin led the way through what was becoming a celestial smattering of little lights. Pyrrha followed slowly, Ironwood's hand still guiding her, and the tiny golden specks danced around them, parted by Ozpin's stride to leave swirls in his wake. In the vastness of the vault, Pyrrha reached out a hand to allow a light to land on her outstretched palm, marveling in the memory of a summer evening when she was young and fireflies lit the meadow around Auntie May's house. These didn't seem to be an insect or plant, but had a purpose to their motions rather than drifting aimlessly. Their luminescence died as the air stilled, a few specks fading behind them as she lost sight of the stairs as they were lost to the darkness.

Pyrrha saw gnarled shapes reaching toward them, a texture coating them like bark, and she realized there was indeed a tree, albeit sickly and twisted, and the branches reminded her of Auntie May's hands. Ozpin's figure was silhouetted against the light of thousands of little lights as they shot from the Headmaster's touch at the knot of the tree; Pyrrha saw the glow surround his fingers and the shimmering specks swirled around his frame, almost a caress, a recognition of his presence in a way that did not knowledge the huntress and General behind him. Glancing up at Ironwood, she saw he was lost in wonder, a slight drop of his jaw proving he had never witnessed such a thing. Even far below another's school, Ozpin had his secrets.

He turned to gesture to her, holding out his hand, and Pyrrha realized she would never tire of the invitation to join him as she released herself from where she stood, spellbound, by the General's side. The golden lights gleamed in his eyes, their reflections catching him in an otherworldly shift of shadows, and his silver hair was lit with the glow that revealed the shape of the tree.

Ironwood watched the young woman cross to Ozpin, thinking momentarily to stop her, before realizing there would be nothing he could do to stop Ozpin himself if he wanted her to join him. The huntress didn't know how the lights darted in and out of her hair, high in a ponytail and falling like a wave down her back, licking like flame with the sway of her movements. They played along her hip scarf, swirled around her golden armor, and explored the length of her limbs as she crossed the distance, leaving Ironwood in the darkness behind them.

The General had seen Ozpin on the best of mornings, mirth and laughter breaking his features into humanity, a recognizable friend, and times like that made Ironwood trust Ozpin's trust in him. It stirred him to loyalty from a want to serve, a desire to stand next to such a man out of pride for what could be accomplished together. The Ozpin in front of him now, however, was not that man.

This was hardly a man at all, a contorted fantasy with sharp features that would cut anyone who came to stop him in his task. This was the Ozpin that Ironwood knew from battle, from the long nights of destruction and perseverance that wearied James even as it fueled Ozpin's determination, and this was the force that Ironwood knew would never trust a single person under the moon he had shattered himself. Ironwood felt fear, the sort that would bend and break a man should Ozpin wish it, and anyone who followed him did so out of their desire to survive.

He watched as Ozpin waited for Pyrrha to reach him, gold flecks spinning between them as though to pull her into his arms. The huntress took his hand and Ozpin guided her, placing her fingertips on the tree where his own rested. Ironwood nearly cried out as she gasped, the quick, sharp sound echoing in the chamber. The tree itself seemed to shudder, branches twitching with a breeze only it felt, and Ozpin caught Pyrrha as her knees gave out. Still, she didn't take her hand away until prompted, gripping his arms as she caught her breath, their heads bowed together as Ozpin whispered something in her ear. She nodded and Ironwood remembered Qrow's warning at what their intimacy could portend: “You will ruin her.” The General forced himself to stand still and not lose his footing in the darkness as he didn't know how much he should watch while Ozpin kissed her brow and brushed hair off her gleaming circlet. After a moment, they stood together, Pyrrha nodding as she found her strength and the little shimmering lights faded all around them.

Ironwood was just reaching for his light where he pocketed it when a pale green glow appeared in Ozpin's hand, contained in the small glass orb. His arm was around Pyrrha, the huntress pale and determined, shadows smudging her cheekbones and chin into an uncanny caricature of Ozpin's own pointed features. To James, it seemed he had just witnessed a miracle, a horror, and he never remembered being so startled as when Ozpin broke the darkness directly in front of him.

“Come, General,” Ozpin said, supporting Pyrrha as they walked together, passing Ironwood as though he were frozen to the ground. “We did what we came to do.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

Dinner was a subdued affair, Pyrrha wishing she could go rest in a dark room rather than sit at an overly ornate table laden with absolutely nothing she wished to eat. Ironwood conversed with Ozpin about the latest struggle with Jacques Schnee in an investigation regarding a Schnee Dust Company board member believed to be executed by the White Fang terrorist cell. Pyrrha noted the two men slipped around the details, both too tactful to share too much in the presence of the huntress, and she didn't appreciate feeling like a child who wasn't trusted to not run and share what she heard with her friends. She inwardly sulked until realizing this was likely why Weiss elected to return to Beacon instead of stay at home during break, not allowed out of the mansion for security and safety concerns, and Pyrrha mentally noted to forgive the icy young woman the next time Weiss started wearing on the teams.

She thought about Blake and her bravery to escape from Adam and the Black Fang – with what she was overhearing at the table, there was no doubt her friend would be killed should she dare return to her former sweetheart-turned-murderer. Not that it sounded like Blake had anything but fury and pity for the faunus who had manipulated her out of her leadership but Pyrrha wished she had a way to better protect the ones she loved, including the cat-eared huntress. Thinking of her team and friends was a welcome split of attention as she forced herself to be a good guest.

Pyrrha didn't let her etiquette fail her, placing her napkin in her lap and remembering the proper silverware for each course, even sipping at the wine poured for her by a prim attendant in a starched uniform, but her thoughts were still far below Atlas Academy. She knew Ozpin was trying to distract her every time he sensed her revisiting their experience of just an hour ago, inviting her to share her thoughts on the Dust embargo to the East and trade deficits in Vacuo, but she hardly had anything to add to the conversation. After she managed to finish a portion of her main course, she excused herself and an attending officer opened the door for her as she breathed a sigh of relief to find herself alone in the large marbled hallway outside the dining room.

She slumped against a chill wall, tucked partly behind a pillar, and let out a shaky breath. Her stomach churned and she wished she hadn't finished her glass of wine. She felt completely out of place dining with the Headmasters of the two most powerful huntsmen academies in Remnant. Pyrrha wished she could have enjoyed the experience, dressing for dinner and tasting the finest meals Atlas could offer, but she couldn't focus on anything but the crooked tree that whispered to her as she touched it.

The sparkling orbs had hummed, notes building chords and chords stretching to meet other notes and building a song cycle that rang in Pyrrha's bones. They were beautiful and terrifying, an invitation and warning, and she sensed life and death in their measures as she placed her hand in Ozpin's. The Headmaster's eyes locked on her own as he guided her to the tree, bark rough under her fingertips, and she dug her fingernails into the nooks where more golden specks fled the heartwood. Branches swayed overhead, their limbs long bereft of leaves or flowers, no promising buds on their tips. Pyrrha wondered briefly if the discordance she suddenly heard came from her own touch to this strange tree but realized it instead came from Ozpin's cane where the Fall Maiden's powers seemed to shriek. It fought for attention even as she felt Ozpin guide her thoughts to the feeling spreading slowly through her fingertips.

The powers were ancient, eternal, and they sought her blood through her flesh – she stiffened until Ozpin wicked them away, leaving her with the faintest sense that, had he not been here, there would be no easy way to survive the encounter with her mind intact. They weren't the Maiden-song that called from the cane, or the harmonies that floated around her in glowing formations, but a strong hum that ripped from the depths of the planet to siphon into the tree itself.

_You've wondered about the Relics of the Maidens?_

Ozpin's voice found her, his hand still steady over her own. She nodded, marveling at the sensations that rang through her, feeling Ozpin continue to buffer the ever-shifting intensities as they poured in and washed out through her fingers.

_There are four, one for each Maiden, and they are hidden across Remnant. There is one in this tree, locked away. Can you hear it call you?_

Pyrrha closed her eyes, sorting through the cacophony to listen for a unique message, something that would tell her its song was meant for her to hear. She listened but the only thing she could hear that made any sense, that felt even the least bit familiar, was the terrible screeching from Ozpin's cane. Trance-like, she reached for it without conscious effort and, before Ozpin could pull away, the tip of her finger touched the polished ebony. His focus shifted from compressing the powers Pyrrha could feel flowing through her from the Relic trapped inside the tree to pulling her back from the grip of the beautiful blonde Maiden as it dragged Pyrrha's spirit into the celestial blackness.

The huntress felt her legs buckle with the force Ozpin used to retrieve her from the furious Maiden-spirit and she knew to release her grip on him was to throw herself back into the watery depths of the magic calling to her. Whereas her first encounter with the power in the cane had been enticing, entrancing, and haunted her with possibilities, this was possessive, raging, and threatened to rip her apart if she did not obey. Pyrrha clung to the tree until she only heard the rumbling hum of the earth through her trembling hand. Ozpin dissipated as much of their connection as he could, letting her experience the power for herself without his influence, and the intensity wracked her until it was too much and she let go.

_Every Relic is hidden away and only the Maidens themselves can claim them_ , Ozpin told her, wrapping his thoughts around her mind like an insulated blanket, steadying her against the gentle twinkling of the glowing notes around them. _This is where the Relic of the Summer Maiden was placed generations ago. If we are ever separated and you need to find a Relic, listen for what you just heard._

_Why would I need to find a Relic?_ she asked, keeping herself from shaking and pulling on a reserve of strength to focus on his voice.

_They are powerful weapons,_ he explained, _and you will need to know how to find one if a Maiden ever turns against you. This one will likely be the easiest for you to reach and it will always be guarded by a Headmaster you can trust._

_Is it just a weapon? Can I use it for good?_

Ozpin leaned and kissed her on the forehead, humbled by the spirit he had just saved from the unruly magic trapped in a wooden prison. Her kind heart would overcome more evil than either of them could imagine. Ozpin wished for a fragment of a moment that she had not ever come into inheritance of a power that would change the course of her life. Brushing her hair off her temples, he waited until she had locked away the memory of the sound of magic coursing under her fingertips and helped her to her feet. The glowing specks stopped humming, chords disappearing as individual notes sang out briefly before they, too, faded with their own light.

Pyrrha longed to return to the tree under the academy, to sit and make sense of the music that ran through her, but she knew the only reason Ozpin wasn't out in the hallway with her right this moment was sheer politeness to their host. Her obvious need for even a second of privacy bought her only so much time and she closed her eyes again to focus her energies on anything but the humming tree. Still feeling nauseous, Pyrrha groaned softly.

“The General has that effect on me, too,” a chill voice rang out, Pyrrha startled to open her eyes to the tall, graceful form of Winter Schnee approaching her. Again, Pyrrha felt she should have at least polished her armor to even look presentable next to the impossible beauties Atlas had to offer, including the soon-to-be Headmistress of Atlas Academy. Winter wore a long gown of pale silver silk, elegant and unadorned, and the fabric slipped across her every movement. Her neck glimmered in a jeweled collar, dripping sapphires and diamonds across her collarbones, and Pyrrha couldn't imagine anything but the Schnee fortune paying for that necklace. Shocked at her own staring, the huntress straightened up from where she still slouched against the wall while Winter assessed her.

“Whatever did they feed you?”

“I'm- I'm fine,” Pyrrha stammered, genuinely attempting to dissuade Winter from noticing her whatsoever while forgetting about her own nerves. “Actually, it was a wonderful meal and I should really be getting back for dessert.”

Without a word, Winter turned and, although she was dressed like a princess, her militaristic stride was anything but delicate as she marched into the dining room. Pyrrha followed, catching Ironwood's smile before Winter's tone wiped it off his face. The red-haired huntress glanced at Ozpin as he asked for Winter's hand, which he politely bowed over before Winter took it back without ever breaking eye contact with Ironwood.

“Guess whose charity dinner I needed to leave early?”

“I couldn't-”

“Guess why I needed to leave?”

Winter ran over him with a familiarity Pyrrha knew she would never take in the presence of strangers and she could tell Ironwood wasn't accustomed to her tone even with private and trusted company.

“Your _guest_ ,” Winter spat the word, “is becoming intolerable. I was asked to attend to an emergency at the hospital wing where a certain dusty old crow went missing. As none of your men felt confident facing the scoundrel should they find him, even in his wounded state, my absence is now noted at a time when my presence was one of the few things keeping donors in their seats.”

“Must not have been worth their time,” Ironwood casually attempted to reassure her, realizing it was the exact opposite thing he should have said as Winter nearly shouted at him, “It was my own charity!”

Pyrrha remembered Weiss saying her sister's fall from grace in the eyes of the patrician Atlasians by dismissing her inheritance to the family business was partly undone by the lavish fundraisers Winter occasionally hosted.

“She pays for them with her own credits,” Weiss once shared between descriptions of chiffon and doilies, “She hardly spends anything she makes since she's on missions almost all the time. She invites only the most influential guests and they give her more money than even our father donates to her causes. Winter gives it all to kids in orphanages who couldn't otherwise afford tuition at our best primary schools!”

Cringing, she watched Ironwood struggle to maintain his veneer as he backtracked over his own words, Winter drawn to her full height and looking down at him with disgust.

“Please accept a personal donation,” James offered, refilling his own wine glass and handing it across the table to Winter, who accepted it but did not sit. “How many children are on your waiting list at the moment?”

“At least twenty who are of age to begin summer sessions at Strabo, another seventeen to start at Mercator this fall.”

“Consider them covered for the rest of their education.”

Winter's gaze melted slightly as she looked at the General over the top of her wineglass, her icy stature less frightening but still imposing. Ozpin politely placed his fine linen napkin over the nearly empty plate in front of him and sipped water from a crystal goblet. Pyrrha couldn't reach her own glass, Winter standing directly behind Pyrrha's chair as the red-haired huntress tried to make herself as small as possible behind Ozpin's chair, and Ozpin refilled his own to pass back to her with all the casualness of handing her a dropped pencil.

“You say Qrow is missing?”

Ozpin's unhurried, conversational tone told Pyrrha he wasn't particularly worried about the news but wished to spare them all the continued weight of complex power dynamics. She admired Ozpin for many things but his social grace and tact was enviable.

“Yes, he apparently snuck out despite the watch of three armed guards, a locked window, and without anything but a hospital gown.”

“Have you been to check his room?”

“No, I've just arrived. When I saw the girl in the hallway, I knew you must be- ”

A longer pause than necessary as Winter said a very unflattering word and drained her glass, Ozpin and the General standing from the table at the same time to lead the way to the hospital wing.

 

-

 

“Surprise,” Qrow drawled, Winter slamming the door to the thin linen closet so hard Pyrrha's ears rang.

Ironwood held the bridge of his nose between two fingers, composing himself from a smile as an immensely annoyed Specialist Schnee stalked from the room. Pyrrha couldn't help a small laugh as she noted how tiny the closet really was and how Qrow ripped out just enough shelving to squeeze his frame in among piles of clean towels and hospital gowns. He was truly related to Ruby, Pyrrha recognizing subtitles of expression in her classmate, and watching Qrow try to extract himself from the tangled mess in such a tight space was worth the trip to Atlas.

“Hey there, Jimmy, nice of you to drop by.”

“If you say another word, I'll give you two new bullet wounds myself,” Ironwood replied dryly.

As Qrow made his way across the room back to his hospital bed, he paused on his way to pull Pyrrha into a one-armed hug, the huntress half supporting him, half returning his friendly embrace.

“Thanks for my life, spitfire,” he thanked her, Pyrrha smiling at the joy of having a nickname. “Look away if you don't want to see what you're missing. You, too, Jimmy.”

Pyrrha swiftly turned as Qrow clumsily got back into bed, the huntress catching Ironwood's eye roll as the General crossed his arms and looked out the window at the sparkling city below. She heard Ozpin talking to Winter in the hallway, their voices muted behind the closed door, and turned only when Qrow settled back on his pillows with an audible sigh. His raised eyebrow both asked a question and made a statement; Pyrrha thought back to their heated conversation about naivete after she had left the Headmaster's office the night she found out about her aural connection with Ozpin. Ignoring his impropriety, she brought the only chair in the room to Qrow's bedside, joining him close enough to hold a conversation. Ironwood continued his vigil at the window, listening without the obligation of participating, and Pyrrha wished Ozpin would join them so she could do something other than swallow immense gulps of guilt at Qrow's sorry state.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I've had worse,” the hunter offered, noting Pyrrha's apologetic tone. “You did a decent job with that bullet. If ol' Ironsides hadn't gotten me here as quick as he did, though, it wouldn't have meant much to a dead man.”

Figuring that was as much gratitude as Qrow had ever expressed to the General, Pyrrha was pleased to see him nod from his corner while Qrow peeked down the front of his gown to check if he had ripped his stitches again.

“I'm mostly padding at the moment,” he shared, gesturing to his chest and the bandages she couldn't see but knew were there. “Aura can only do so much. How's that going with your own, anyway?”

Pyrrha felt Ironwood's attention shift and she could only answer, “Better now. I figured it out.”

“Good,” he commented with a grimace that let her know he was aware of Ironwood's presence. “Hey, you mind giving us some space?”

Ironwood glanced at Pyrrha and she nodded, smiling and thanking him for dinner. He bid her farewell and goodnight, throwing a warning at Qrow before leaving the room. Pyrrha glimpsed a corner of Ozpin's jacket from between the uniformed guards before Ironwood closed the door behind him.

“You're able to heal yourself again?”

“I'm at least able to use my own aura again,” Pyrrha admitted. “Professor Ozpin realized he was drawing on my own unintentionally.”

“That's something,” Qrow said, his surprise hidden under a layer of familiar cynicism. “Can you draw on his?”

“I can, yes.”

“But you haven't tried?”

“Not really.”

Qrow gave her a look she didn't like and bristled under his knowing grin.

“I'd ask why not but you'd think that was bad manners, wouldn't you?”

“Indeed.”

Pyrrha didn't like the way Qrow seemed fragile without his weapon or rings, his hair flatter than usual and perhaps a little more grey. His skin, although always pale, was papery and she saw where needles had delivered medication into the veins of his hands. He caught her pitying glance and she wondered if he was punishing her by not changing the subject.

“All this potential, all these possibilities, and you're stopping yourself from quite possibly becoming one of the best huntresses in your kingdom because you're afraid.”

“I have nothing to be afraid of.”

“You're a bad liar, spitfire. Out with it.”

Pyrrha kept her lips tight, giving Qrow a raised eyebrow of her own, and the hunter cackled before dissolving into a coughing fit. She handed him a glass of water and took it back when he finished, helping him rest against the pillows again so he was more comfortable. She couldn't help herself from replying, despite her better judgment, as she sat back down next to his bed.

“Qrow, I don't see how you're concerned. We're doing what we're supposed to be doing, which is strengthening the aural trance to better transfer the Maiden's powers,” Pyrrha said, exasperated and wishing she wasn't alone with the cynical hunter so he couldn't press on such a personal question. “The last time I saw you, you were dying on the dirty floor of a rented room! I thought I had helped kill you quicker by pulling out that bullet. I've been scared for Ruby, for Yang, for you, and all you want to do is ask me about Ozpin.”

“I saw what I walked in on,” Qrow replied. “I've been around a little longer than you. Done more, too. A sparring session in the moonlight?”

She didn't blush as she answered, “And what of it?”

“I've been there, experienced that,” Qrow chided, settling deeper into the hospital bed. “It's how I lost one of my students.”

“Wait, I thought you taught at Signal?”

“Winter never went to Signal,” he said, ignoring the shocked on her face, “She was quite a bit older than the students at Signal, too, so stop giving me that look. You're younger than she was when I met her. Part of Atlas' requirement for graduation is to shadow a hunter or huntress for a few weeks, develop a feel for the world without risking their necks too much. I wasn't teaching at Signal at the time, still a mercenary who had made a bit of a name for myself, and the school paid well enough for what should have been an easy time.”

“You were assigned Winter?”

“No, Winter picked me.”

Pyrrha couldn't help but lean forward a little in her chair, wondering how much of this Weiss knew, before catching herself in her rudeness. Winter didn't seem like she would ever allow herself more than a well-timed barb at anyone lesser than herself on the combat stage, the stern and precise Specialist demanding more of a teacher than the intuitive and visceral Qrow Branwen.

“Winter hadn't given up her inheritance yet, a huntress about to graduate and finish the education that matched the dress. High honors for a high class woman and then back to the Schnee business to hustle for daddy dearest,” the hunter shared, dark red eyes drifting restlessly over the subtle patterns on the hospital blankets. “She wasn't supposed to join the military, hadn't even thought of it when she assigned herself to me.”

“I can't imagine Winter as anything but-”

“Believe me, she was a rebel,” Qrow smiled ruefully. “Anything to annoy her family, anything to fight back against what was expected of her. She was never good at just sitting quiet and letting her looks speak for her. Winter knew she wasn't going back home after graduation. She just didn't know where she was going instead.”

Pyrrha found herself too engaged and sat back, crossing her legs at the knee and picking at her hip scarf as she realized she didn't need to hear the rest. Qrow shrugged as best he could for how stiffly he lay, undoubtedly uncomfortable regardless of how well he was taken care of.

“So, when I tell you I know what I saw, I know what I saw,” he said, cocking an eyebrow in an invitation for Pyrrha to deny it. “What I don't understand is why you're holding back.”

“This is really none of your business.”

“You're right,” he said, knowing he was getting nowhere with her but reminding her, “Just remember Yang and Ruby grew up with one very protective uncle. I'd tell you if something wasn't lining up right.”

At hearing her classmate's names, Pyrrha looked up from where she had been watching herself roll the hem of her hip scarf between gloved fingers. Ruby arrived back at Beacon the morning of their first session and marched herself right into a training room. She had demolished all the targets with Crescent Rose before Professor Port marched her right back outside to take out her energies with Team GLMR on a training mission. She was due to arrive back that night, Pyrrha noted, gauging the likelihood of seeing her classmate back to some semblance of normal now that she had an outlet to release her emotions.

“How are they doing?” Qrow asked, Pyrrha smiling at Qrow's affection his nieces. “Ruby was upset when she saw all the needles they'd stuck in me.”

“Ruby was sent out on a mission but Yang is in class,” the huntress shared. “She hasn't been acting any different and no one has done anything but support her until she wants to talk about it.”

“Yang was always able to keep perspective,” he said. “She'll be fine. As long as she keeps an eye on Ruby, that is. I warned them both to stay in line, not to go wandering around seeking revenge. They don't know, by the way. That you saved me.”

“Ironwood and his men saved you.”

“You reminded me what I was going to leave behind,” Qrow said, Pyrrha realizing the hunter didn't wear vulnerability well. “I've never been a smart man but I don't think I've ever almost made a mistake like that.”

She smiled at him softly before startling as Qrow had another coughing fit, the hunter groaning as he pulled a stitch.

“Bad luck,” he muttered, pressing a hand to a wound. He waved Pyrrha away as he closed his eyes and focused his aura, his deep breath of relief telling her he managed the small amount of healing just fine. Pyrrha found herself staring out the window at the sparkling city buildings during Qrow's brief but trying attempt to use what she could tell was an extremely damaged aura.

“When will you be allowed to leave?”

“Oh, I can leave at any time,” Qrow answered, his pale skin particularly disconcerting when she compared the man in front of her to the hunter who had swooped at her and drunkenly attempted to provoke her into a fight on their first face-to-face meeting. “Before this, I haven't had an attractive woman give me a bath in a long time and there's a blonde here who makes sure she stops by twice on her rounds.”

She ignored his wink, knowing Yang would have rolled in laughter and Ruby give him a fond punch on the shoulder, but she couldn't muster anything more than an embarrassed flush at his joke.

“You never were much for people,” he mentioned, catching her eyes with his and smirking with a hint of his usual infuriating charm. “Even when I kept an eye on you for Oz, you didn't laugh like others. You didn't do normal things with normal kids.”

“I like people just fine,” she defended. “I'm trying to learn to protect people, to save them.”

“You also distance yourself from them. You're too good?”

“No,” Pyrrha felt her voice rising. “I've never been too good. I haven't been good enough, even.”

“That's not true and you know it,” he answered. “You forget I watched you practice, watched you fight. You know their jealousy, those opponents you put down so easily.”

“None of it was easy.”

“You're not special. But you are actually better,” Qrow said, daring Pyrrha to contradict him. She found herself sympathizing with anyone else who had declared themselves finished with the old crow's attitude and blunt approach to any and all topics. “You were picked for a reason, remember? Oz wanted you for this mission but you got yourself into Beacon all on your own. You've learned to hold your own against one of the best fighters in Atlas. I know, I trained her. Which, by the way, you're in need of a new combat instructor. I'm putting my name in for the job.”

“What? You?”

Pyrrha could help her glance up and down his frame that told him all he needed to know about her confidence in his ability to train her when he couldn't even get a glass of water on his own.

“I'll be up in no time,” Qrow scoffed. “Besides, you forget I'll be sticking around a little more often anyway, with the Vytal Festival and the occasional mission out with your classmates. I teach, remember?”

Thinking of Beacon, Pyrrha recalled her concern for her dark-haired faunus friend and the fact she was practically paying back a debt to the grizzled hunter.

“Qrow, can I ask you something?”

“You can ask anything, spitfire,” Qrow said, gesturing for his glass of water and Pyrrha handed it to him after refilling it. “Doesn't mean I'll answer but go ahead anyway.”

“Why are you putting Blake in danger? Asking her to look out for Cinder?”

Qrow assessed the huntress, his expressions gauging his answer.

“Your friend is more than capable of watching out for herself,” he said, a small incredulous laugh letting her know what he thought of her question. “If I didn't give her a direction, who knows what trouble she would have found on her own by having time to track down the Black Fang? She's a better huntress than her team realizes. I thought at least Ruby wouldn't have underestimated who she had on her side but, no, Blake's been sneaking out at night almost as often as you've been sleeping in a guest room.”

“Yang will notice,” Pyrrha said, assured in the early morning conversation about the fiery blonde as Blake had braided her own flaming hair. “Eventually, when she catches on.”

Qrow ignored her as she realized she said more than she intended, continuing to assess her as he asked, “You know the huntress we were ambushing? That night when- ” Qrow gestured at his broken torso.

“That's my cousin, Cinder. I don't want to talk about her right now.”

“I wouldn't either, if that was my cousin,” he said with a snort. “I know a thing or two about family and not all of them turn out great, that's for damn sure.”

“I hadn't seen her in years and now she's running with the Black Fang. In Vale, of all places,” Pyrrha sighed, disappointment flitting across her features. Qrow couldn't put his finger on it but she seemed weighted, distracted, and he could guess they weren't entirely related to her obvious uneasiness around him.

“Did Oz try to transfer you?”

Pyrrha stared at him, frowning.

“How did you-”

Qrow leaned back as far as he could in his bed, cackling so loudly the huntress wondered how no one in the hallway would hear them. As it was, she had stopped catching snippets of Ozpin's voice a long time ago and her creeping discomfort caused her to reach out for Ozpin with a casual request for his presence. Almost immediately, she felt him respond: _I'm coming._

“Oh, what you don't know you don't know,” Qrow laughed, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. “What a damn fool to try it, though. When do you become Jimmy's new pet?”

“I told him no,” Pyrrha answered, confused and feeling mocked. “I wasn't going to transfer. Under no circumstances am I leaving Beacon.”

“And Oz just agreed to that?”

“Actually, yes,” she said, watching Qrow regain control of himself. The hunter grew somber, crooking a finger for her to come closer.

“There's something you should know,” he said, his voice low. “A few somethings, actually, but Ozpin-”

She heard the door open behind her. Turning, she saw a guard allow the velvet-clad Headmaster into the room, his presence a welcome sense of relief from the stifling conversation about things she wished the bedraggled hunter had never known about her. The timing was imperfect, however, and she wouldn't have called for him had she known Qrow was going to share with her as much as she felt she had shared with him. As much as she wanted to hide it, Ozpin's arrival was comforting; with everything she experienced tonight, a reminder she wasn't alone was worth delaying Qrow's conspiracies.

“A little worse for wear but still your charming self, it seems, Qrow. Ms. Nikos, is everything alright?”

Ozpin's voice hinted at a smile but she felt his annoyance, wondering if it was related to the wounded crow or the pair of icy Atlasians he had been conversing with in the hallway. As he put his hand on her shoulder, she knew Qrow noticed her features soften before she could help herself; Pyrrha met Qrow's stare without flinching, steady and calm. He glanced between her and Ozpin, then gave her a little nod.

“Getting late, Oz,” he said, waving a hand to casually dismiss them. “Unless you're planning on staying the night, in which case you should know I snore.”

“As enticing as you've made your invitation, our transport is ready,” Ozpin said congenially, a hint of the host Pyrrha knew him to be shining through in his gentle teasing. “Thank you for the evening's entertainment and, should you choose to aggravate Specialist Schnee further, please note the guards outside the door are there to keep others out more than to keep you in.”

Pyrrha stood and found herself at a loss for words. He had already thanked her for his life, for reminding him what was worth living for, and, although she had no wish to continue a conversation with him at the moment, she knew she had a resource of information in Qrow. If his sense of honor and duty included paying back perceived debts, she knew he would consider answering some of her own questions as payment. Confident she could call on him, even if his loyalty to Ozpin meant he couldn't answer everything, Pyrrha locked her questions away. This wasn't the place or time, especially with the insistent memory of what lay far below Atlas Academy.

“I'll see you around, spitfire,” he said, closing his eyes and yawning, Ozpin dimming the lights near the door as Pyrrha didn't know what to do besides pat the end of the bed with a gloved hand. Ozpin's hair reflected the harsh lights of the hallway as he knocked on the door and the guards allowed them to exit, Pyrrha squinting in the sudden brightness.

“Take care, Oz.”

She heard Qrow as the door closed behind them and, as she walked in tandem with the Headmaster down the long, sterile hallway and out of the hospital wing, the huntress couldn't help but hear the warning behind his words.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Everybody Here Wants You” by Jeff Buckley came on while I was coming up with Winter's outfit. I take it as a sign that writing when listening to Spotify shuffle is pure gold and everyone should try it.
> 
> Fun Fact: the role of Scary Relic Tree was played by a lesser-known relation of the famous arborvitae who had his own three-word phrase in a recent blockbuster film set in space.
> 
> Also, long chapter is long to make up for the short chapters that are short. Dialogue is hard. Everything's made up and the points don't matter.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy The Longest Sentences Ever and Nearly Non-Sequitur Jumps from paragraph to paragraph, do I have the chapter for you.

“The Atlas delegation won't be here for another month,” Yang chided as Weiss set to work spreading diagrams and fabric samples across the dormitory floor. Pyrrha sat on Blake's bed, the dark-haired huntress lounging with a worn paperback as Pyrrha watched replays of her last taped combat; with Vytal Festival fast approaching and Vale hosting to commemorate 80 years of peace since the Great War, some students were planning their participation differently than others.

“Which color do you think will go best with the ballroom chandeliers?”

Weiss waved a small batch of swatches under Ruby's nose as her teammate played cards with Jaune near the door, the younger girl shrugging unhelpfully as Jaune took the opportunity to double-down on his strategy.

“They're all grey?” Ruby asked, unsure what she was supposed to do with the cloth samples and cringing as Weiss ordered her to touch them. “Um, silky. And this one's silky. This one's silky, too-”

“This one's a pale blue charmeuse, that one is a blue smoke satin, and this one is a soft lapis organza. You can't seriously expect me to believe you can't tell them apart?”

Ruby's apologetic smile as she beat Jaune's strategy with a quick flip of a card made the heiress stomp off to Yang, who refused to look up from her scroll while she played a game. Weiss spun to find Blake hiding behind her book. Pyrrha was a little disappointed when Weiss didn't even ask her, not that she would have been much help in differentiating between décor samples herself, but it sharply reminded her of times at Mistral when no one looked twice at her. Reminding herself she was with friends and it was an oversight, Weiss obviously trying to not interrupt the huntress while she analyzed strengths and ineptitudes from last week's class combat test, Pyrrha felt Blake's eyes on her. Her classmate would know, of course, able to read a moment better than even Ren, but the huntress hoped Blake wouldn't say anything to Weiss later.

“With Team CFVY out on a training mission for the next two weeks, it's lucky I've done this before,” Weiss said, flouncing back to her room diagrams. “Who volunteers to host the dance and then disappears for weeks at a time?”

“I don't think Professor Port had the dance in mind when he sent CFVY out for an assignment,” Jaune snorted. “Either plan a stupid dance or go and destroy Grimm. Which would you pick?”

Ruby, ignoring that the question wasn't meant to be answered, shouted, “Grimm! Professor Port sends everyone else out on cool missions and we get stuck with Professor Oobleck's nature walks.”

“If the dance is so stupid, Jaune, then don't bother showing up,” Weiss snapped, shuffling her papers into a binder, putting that binder in another binder, and stuffing it all into a bag separate from her schoolwork. “The rest of us will have a wonderful time, considering I've had to plan it all myself.”

“You're planning it but who's going to do the actual work of setting it all up?” Yang teased, winking at Weiss before her teammate could become overly offended. Jaune stammered, trying to take back his words as he realized his chance to ask his crush to the ball was now zilch, and Pyrrha glanced up from her scroll to see his disappointment in his own choice of words. She felt a sore spot in her softness for Jaune and hoped the hunter-in-training realized sooner than later that nothing he did to impress Weiss worked and, in fact, often had the opposite intention.

“Who are you going with?” Weiss asked, undoubtedly planning on assigning Yang a date if her teammate didn't choose someone suitably attractive enough. “You have a dress, right?”

“Goin' solo,” Yang answered, gritting her teeth and careening from side to side as she focused on winning her game.

“And your dress?”

“Don't have one.”

Weiss stomped her foot, turning on Blake, “Please tell me you have a dress.”

“I'll need to visit a shop in Vale,” Blake answered, flipping a page and curling away from Weiss' impetuous stare. “I'll have something.”

“I'll go with her,” Ruby said quickly, trying to diffuse the wrath as Jaune countered her last move with half his own stack of cards. “I'm going to wear my boots, though.”

“No, you are not,” Weiss snapped, the two beginning another argument for at least the fourth time that afternoon. The two huntresses whined at each other, Weiss explaining under no circumstances would Ruby show up as anything less than acceptable for being one of four hostesses and Ruby countering how ridiculous she would look wearing a dress to begin with.

“But, you wear a dress every day,” Jaune countered, Ruby giving him a smirk that told him he wasn't helping the situation.

“Battle skirt,” Yang interjected, groaning as she lost the game and tossing her scroll to the side. “Last boy who told her she was wearing a dress had to pick dirt from his ears for a week.”

“Who are you going with, Pyrrha?”

The red-haired huntress looked up from her scroll, temporarily caught between her assessment of how well she had placed a kick on Russel Thrush and what Jaune had actually asked her. Surely he hadn't just asked her who her date was for the dance?

“I'm not going,” she said, Weiss not the only one to round on her at that declaration. “No, really, I have too much classwork to keep up on outside of my aura training. We have mission assignments the day after, too, and I think sleep would-”

“You're not skipping and you're not going without a date,” Weiss whined, flinging herself to her own bed in an unusual display of helpless frustration. “Not if I have a say in it.”

“You're the best in our class,” Jaune offered as he won another hand against Ruby. “Probably the whole school. You've gotta go.”

“You're one of the favored huntresses for the tournament,” Yang said, as though the whole room hadn't been there as the first round of bets had been placed between teams in the mess hall the previous week. Most of the school had turned up for the preliminary qualifying event, all but a handful of students cleared to participate in the second and more selective session coming up in just two weeks.

Teams were allowed to participate if at least two members passed all three trials, ensuring relatively few conditions for poor matchups and fewer potential injuries to members on a team. Everyone on Teams RWBY and JNPR had passed the first round and would likely pass the second round, Weiss and Blake standing out as favorites, as well as Coco from CFVY and the huntress with the sparkly jacket from GLMR. Norah had been a little too enthusiastic in her gushing over Pyrrha's topmost score out of all precursory qualifiers and Pyrrha was pretty sure the peppy huntress herself had started the first bet that Pyrrha would easily go on to the championship round of the tournament itself.

“I don't think I'll have time,” she said, thinking of her red dress hanging limp and likely wrinkled in the closet she shared with Norah. “If I can, though, I'd love to see the hard work Weiss and Yang-”

“Hey!” Ruby called out. “The whole team is hosting!”

“I don't see us doing an awful lot,” Blake said, piping up to further distract from Pyrrha's fluster as she turned back to her scroll and tried to focus on the arc of her swing with Milo as Thrush effectively blocked a strike.

He had been a sloppy opponent but still leveled a few good counter-attacks before Pyrrha flipped him so hard his aura plummeted; all the members of Team CRDL qualified but Thrush was the weakest of the group and told anyone who would listen that Pyrrha had gotten lucky. Of course, no one listened to him and Thrush himself placed a bet Pyrrha would make it to the championship round but be beat out by her opponent with less than 8% aura levels in the end.

Aura levels. She had rolled Qrow's words around in her mind since the trip to Atlas earlier that week, some of them jumping out at her more often than others during random portions of her day and his persistence in her pursuing a greater understanding of how her aura now worked in combat was one of many considerations she had made regarding the dusty old crow.

She couldn't keep from contemplating his obviously complicated and bitter distance from Winter; Pyrrha noted how much Weiss was starting to look like her older sister when she watched her teammate in moments the heiress didn't think anyone was looking. She missed Winter's instruction, she realized, anticipating a call from class that never came. The Specialist wasn't a warm, soft person by any means but carried herself with a dignity Pyrrha found reassuring all the same. Winter's presence held structure, an exhausting routine she knew improved her combat capabilities. She couldn't have imagined having a sister, sometimes daring to hope as a child that Cinder would have become close had she not turned out to be a cruel girl Pyrrha became scared of. Everyone knew Weiss loved her sister dearly. She allegedly had a brother but no one asked of him and Weiss never shared. How many conversations had Weiss overrun with authoritative references to something Winter had said? How often had Pyrrha watched Weiss shift her stance to the militaristic preferences of Atlasian classical training only to add a tilt of her chin directly copied from her older sister's undeniable bearing?

Pyrrha saw Qrow in Ruby's face, in Yang's smile, and noted the near-complete representation of his personality between the two women. Ruby, although hardly more than a girl, was the epitome of Qrow's enthusiasm for the hunt. Pyrrha knew, as did the rest of Beacon, that Qrow was Ruby's mentor, the center around which her world revolved, and her occasional homesickness for Patch or for her friends back at Signal was mended by Yang's presence and Qrow's visits. The passion for helping others, the nearly primal urge to track and destroy Grimm, and an overabundance of enthusiasm for weapons were easy to find in Qrow if you ignored his darker nature. Yang's zest for life, the thrill of the chase, and some of her more knowing and experienced ways of going about her relationships all sang out as influence from her dear uncle. Team JNPR hadn't met Tai, Yang's dad, on his only visit to Beacon earlier last semester but Pyrrha understood Yang to be as bubbly and full of positivity as he was. Who but an extreme optimistic would send a dog via post? Although Zwei was sent home just weeks after his arrival (Pyrrha noting with some sadness that she had missed the misadventures of Team RWBY and their little furry sidekick because of her constant training with either Winter or Ozpin), Yang had supposedly been so undone with happiness over their surprise companion that her giggling kept half the building distracted.

Qrow's unsettling habit of looking directly into her eyes as though he already expected her answer had shaken her nerves, his insistence on discussing the concerns she kept close to her heart causing her to rethink allowing him to consider training her. When they first met, she thought him a drunken mess with poor manners. After leaving the Headmaster's office when the knowledge of her soul-bond with the silver-haired Headmaster himself became too much to handle in a room of strangers, Qrow had forced her to face the reality of her situation. Pyrrha hadn't had much respect for him as he yelled at her in the courtyard on her way back to her team, his cruel laugh cutting when he realized she was almost as afraid of her connection to Ozpin as she was of the magic that had killed one of her own instructors. She had made a personal declaration to never lose as much of her compassion as to stoop to Qrow's level and Pyrrha was well aware she had likely experienced a few of Qrow's redeeming qualities only because of how close to death he had been and their mutual awareness she saved him. Although he thanked her for his life, she couldn't help but feel it was a sly and underhanded compliment in retrospect.

He had pressured her to disclose what she knew of sharing aura, specifically with Ozpin, and the question had seemed to her to be equivalent of gossiping about the most private of secrets. It was a shock she hardly covered up with manners and a few short and deflective responses. Even if she had wanted to tell him, though, what would she have said? Beyond their realization that Pyrrha's delayed recovery from their first aural trance had been to Ozpin's accidental siphoning of her own aura, strengthening him fast enough to retake the protections on Beacon Academy within a few days, what was there to share? He already knew her hand, damaged when they left on their training mission last autumn, had been healed by the time they arrived back to the school. Qrow never asked but she was awaree he watched their fight against the Death Stalker, melting back into the shadows to keep an eye out for more Grimm while allowing the two teams to hone their techniques on their designated prey. He must have known something had changed and Pyrrha reprimanded herself for assuming Qrow's disinterest rather than recognizing he had garnered information from her without a single word. Ozpin's powers of observation were extraordinary, so much so that she was afraid she underestimated even those he kept closest company with.

Her aura levels hadn't been publicly measured in competition since her last tournament in Mistral, her victory securing her an invitation to Beacon in lieu of the traditional entrance exam. That had been almost two years ago. Beacon instructors only measured aura when there was cause for safety concerns in battle, usually only between first-year students who didn't yet know when to hold back with each other or themselves, or when soon-to-be graduates took their exit exams. She knew there were times when instructors could and did monitor aura during combat classes but they typically didn't, especially not with students who already were known as skilled enough in their self-assessments to reserve and expend aura in relation to their battle. Pyrrha and Ren were two such students and it was almost a classroom insult to be measured in battle by an instructor.

Jaune still hadn't lived down his teasing when Professor Port nearly glued his eyes to the scroll readouts rather than watching the battle itself last time Jaune went up against Yang. Peter Port's known fondness for the spirited woman not enough of a distraction to pull him away from the shockingly fast depletion of Jaune's aura. The whole class had rioted in laughter when Port, in his fumbling, accidentally shared the scroll's contents on the larger display above the battle stage, complete with replay as Yang obliterated her classmate's aura to nothing in less than a minute. Pyrrha's admiration of Yang grew when the feisty blonde helped Jaune off the floor and to the infirmary in case she had done real damage, ignoring her classmate's catcalls and even Weiss' mocking at how a dunderhead like Jaune had ever gotten into an elite huntsman academy like Beacon.

Pyrrha had studied aura from every book Beacon had to offer, including nearly every related tome in Ozpin's private study, even searching portions of the Cross Continental Transmit System against her better judgment to communicate with a library in Atlas. Ozpin had asked her to refrain from such transparency after learning of her query, undoubtedly from Ironwood himself, and she had subsequently found new books on her stack in Ozpin's study that didn't seem to come from any public or educational library she knew of. She had spent months reading about aura, studying it in the way she knew best, but perhaps Qrow was right. Although she would never admit it to the hunter, she realized she might have to admit to herself that she was purposefully avoiding testing the limits of certain boundaries.

Thinking about what aura exploration could turn into, she flushed and tried to focus on replaying the last portion of her combat lesson, glancing up from her scroll to look at Blake as her friend hid her own blush behind her book. The two girls turned even redder when Pyrrha noted Blake's well-worn paperback was Ninjas of Love, a book Pyrrha only knew by reputation for being a quick sell to the love-lorn and lustful. Blake's ears twitched through her bow and both of them smiled at each other before refocusing, Pyrrha daring to note the back cover included some rather innovative descriptions of things she couldn't clearly imagine.

The huntress made a mental note to try Tukson's Bookshop in Vale for anything on aura when she went with her classmates into Vale, preferably before Weiss forced them all into the heiress' own clothes for the Festival Dance.

 

–

 

“Ms. Nikos, I'm asking for a bit more of your focus than what I'm receiving at the moment.”

Pyrrha allowed herself to fidget slightly, settling into a familiar battle stance and shifting her shoulders as she waited for Ozpin to signal his readiness from across the room. The battle classroom was brightly lit, sun streaming through the enormous windows, and the sound of students through the closed doors was almost a welcome relief to diffuse the tension Pyrrha felt being back in the same room with the same man. There were no opportunities for secrets or dalliances – this was an instructional spar.

She shouldered her shield, holding Milo as she waited for Ozpin to select his weapon from the racks, their pleasant conversation marred by Pyrrha's inability to keep her mind from wandering. Even as Ozpin took one last sip from his mug before placing it carefully beside his cane near the battlestage, she couldn't help but think of Qrow and feel trepidation. The huntress was trying so hard to keep her thoughts from wandering to black velvet and pale moonlight that she had completely overdone her mental blockades, keeping herself from thinking of a bloodied Qrow in Vale after her last spar with Ozpin. The huntress tried to hide the memories with such veracity that she couldn't organize the rest of her thoughts to make sense. Although she knew a quick match would probably help soothe her mind, followed by a hot shower and quiet meditation session, Pyrrha knew this afternoon would take as much time and thought as her hardest exams. Ozpin was considerate in allowing her time to try to sort her thoughts but now it was time to stop dallying.

“After our first aural trance, when I realized my aura was not all necessarily my own, I wondered what we had done beyond our intention,” Ozpin shared, taking an agonizingly slow stride toward her as he tested the weight of a long staff in his hand. “It was quickly apparent that I was foolish to underestimate the very nature of what we used as our foundation for our connection: aura.”

Another footstep, another twist of the staff, and Pyrrha's muscles tensed in anticipation.

“I admit, I do not entirely understand. We know you have unintentionally given me yours for an extended period of time. We know I have given you mine to aid you in battle and rapid healing. Our most recent session in quiet contemplation was fruitless. The question today is whether you can extend aura to me while engaged in combat.”

Pyrrha briefly recalled the failed attempt yesterday in the vaults to push her aura to him, discouraged at the end of a rather short session together in which not only had she not succeeded in pushing her aura to her intended source but hadn't even been able to establish a clear connection to Ozpin to begin with. Even as he sat across from her, deep below the school in their usual ritual while working on shifting the weight of their aural trance, she couldn't feel him beyond the warmth of his skin near her own. He had refused a shared meditation, stating his concern for undermining what they already accomplished on the whim of a bad day, and she left the vaults angry with herself and slightly concerned. If she couldn't sense him, felt a wall when she reached out with her senses, what was she doing wrong? Pyrrha trusted him when Ozpin said he hadn't tried to block her from him in quite some time, the huntress ruefully noting he had once done just as she had and tried to actively ignore their connection before both realizing on their own the futile attempt for what it was. What had she accidentally done to keep him from her, now that she felt she needed his presence more than ever?

“I believe I know what could be impeding our progress,” Ozpin continued, his cryptic musings aggravating Pyrrha when she knew she needed to be clearing her mind. “Before we try other paths, I recognize you as a huntress. I know well enough the cure for troubled thoughts can be, on occasion, physical expenditure.”

“Do you really, Oz?”

Pyrrha turned to see a tattered cloak and a crooked smile slink down the stairs to the battlestage, hardly believing her eyes when Qrow winked at her as he drew his scythe. The mercurial hunter nodded to Ozpin, the Headmaster acknowledging him without taking his eyes off Pyrrha.

“Through the effort of battle, reach out to me,” Ozpin said as Qrow extended Harbinger's blade, the huntress glancing between them with concern for Qrow's injuries. Qrow, although still pale and slightly thinner for his hospital stay, moved with the easy grace of a man without a single physical complaint. How much of this display was authenticity or just gritting through the pain was yet to be seen.

Panic crossed her features as she briefly thought she was going to have to fight both of them, knowing immediately she was far outmatched by either one of the hunters in front of her and would likely not come away unscathed. Ozpin, still casually testing his grip on the long combat staff, stepped away from Qrow to join her at her side; she thought she heard him say something to her but couldn't tell one word from another as she watched Qrow tease her with his blade. He waggled his eyebrows and she could hardly respond to his crassness as he closed the distance between them with a similarity to Ozpin's stance that she almost had to look twice at who was next to her.

Pyrrha tried to hide her confusion and frustration as she could hardly keep track of gripping her spear for her racing thoughts. She watched Ozpin from the corner of her eye as he extended the staff in a firm grip, nodding, and the huntress gave him a wary glance as she hesitated at striking first. The Headmaster didn't hesitate, however, and Pyrrha gasped as he blocked a strike from Qrow as she tried to retreat without striking back. Qrow ducked under Ozpin's arm, knocking the Headmaster back with a series of blows, and whipped the flat of the scythe hard against Pyrrha's thigh. Within moments, she forfeited, keeping herself from crying out as she felt her aura deflect what should have been a significant blow to her leg.

She hadn't been brought to her knees by her own ineptitude since her early days at Mistral, hadn't tried to run from an opponent since she was a child. Now, as her leg stung and she fought to remind herself this was an instructional spar with a goal in mind, Pyrrha had a hard time separating that reality from the realization one of the most feared fighters she knew of had just struck her. Ozpin's realization of her angry tears infuriated her further and she nearly blindly struck back at Qrow with her spear. She felt the hunter block and she lept up, fighting so ferociously that she hardly dared wonder what would happen if she did manage to make contact; although he had more years than she knew of to develop his aura capacity, Pyrrha still didn't wish to hurt him.

Quickly realizing there would be little chance of actually causing damage, she let her frustrations pour out through the strikes, blows, spins, and kicks as Qrow blocked every one of them.

Her mind tried to recall Qrow in his hospital bed but he caught her again in the leg with the flat of the blade and she was forced to abandon her thoughts to focus on a series of return strikes. As soon as she thought of her fear of Ruby and Yang finding out from their classmates that Pyrrha had been part of Qrow's grievous injury that caused their family panic and pain, she had to block an intense and complicated combination of lunges and swings. The moment she started to remember the immense sadness at losing the connection with the Relic hidden inside the mysterious tree below Atlas Academy, her muscles shouted for help and she dedicated her brainpower to a creative strategy to get herself back across the battlestage. To regain enough space for even just a breath, all of Pyrrha's energy had to siphon from her mind and into her body. She hadn't had to work this hard in combat with another since her first session with Winter and this spar was quickly leaving that experience to pale in comparison.

Pyrrha couldn't contemplate Ozpin's annoying habit of walking too fast for her when he didn't realize he was leaving her to catch up behind him in conversation, or the teasing way the green lamplight caught the silver in his hair when she caught glimpse of him between classes, or the sense of loss when she had to treat him as other students did and only politely greet him as though she hadn't woken up to his gentle touch just that morning from having fallen asleep in his study yet again. The overwhelming swirl of him in her mind dissipated as she could hardly spare a thought to move quick enough out of the way of Qrow's attacks. Ozpin wasn't necessarily fighting on Pyrrha's behalf or against Qrow but instead acted as proctor; she realized this as he moved effortlessly between them to block and strike only enough that Pyrrha wasn't so overwhelmed she needed to forfeit.

Her classmates didn't provide enough of a challenge, Pyrrha finding her mind wandering even during her preliminary rounds for the Vytal Tournament, and she thought it was ego when she couldn't find anything wrong in her combat reviews. Now, she had to use more aura than she ever needed to before to just heal the small cuts and bruising left by the scythe as it struck. The huntress lost track of time and every defensive move took more and more out of her, her endurance stretched to the limit and Qrow's strikes bit deeper and faster. She was beyond fury, past any hint of escape, her existence becoming a series of swings, breaths, and the beat of her pulse in her ears.

Qrow danced around her, Ozpin matching each of them step for step in a whirl of emerald against Qrow's ruby cape and glittering garnet eyes. Harbinger snapped at Milo and Pyrrha's shield could not quite keep up with Qrow's quick attacks – the hunter drew his blade across her skin with a hint of a twist now – and she felt her cuts sting as she allotted aura to those that hurt most. Qrow tripped her, the huntress skidding across the floor and struggling to find her feet. She knew the cynical crow was a breath behind her and she spun up into Ozpin as he lifted her with a powerful arm to flip over Qrow's head.

If she went more than a few days without practice, Pyrrha knew her body would fight her through the start of her routines in the practice room. Like all her classmates, Pyrrha fulfilled mandatory physical requirements to increase awareness of muscles and tendons, strengthening what she could while paying close attention to how she could utilize energy and aura most effectively through each motion. How Qrow was this quick and powerful with only weeks between him and a nearly fatal injury was a testament to how formidable he would be in his prime. The red-haired huntress had the sense he was still playing with her, keeping to the basic rules of engagement in a fair fight but demonstrating how much farther she had to go in her training, and Ozpin was far from the hint of exhaustion.

As she felt herself make the fundamental decision to heal a wound with the last of her aura rather than let it bleed and keep her energy for the next strike, Pyrrha took a knee. The huntress heard the scythe stop its whistle through the air to halt before reaching her and her muscles protested the sudden cessation of movement after so much exertion. Sweat beaded and her hair hung limp down her back, soft strands sticking to her skin as she trembled.

_Pyrrha._

For the first time in what felt like more than the few days it had been, she heard Ozpin's voice reach her without saying a word.

_There you are._

She breathed a sigh of relief, as much as she could while trying to gulp in air to fill her aching lungs, and her eyes went wide as she felt his agony at watching her slowly heal her bleeding wounds. In the space of one breath to another, she knew the extreme emotions warring within him were not directed at her at all and entirely barbed to wound himself. His internal voice was a shudder, a weak cringe from her soft reach as she sent everything she had in her heart to reach him without moving a muscle.

 _You were right,_ she assured, flooding him with her own emotions as she fought her body to regain control of her stiffening joints. _I was paralyzed with fear._

Vibrant green eyes met rich amber and she breathed deep.

_I'm not anymore._

Ozpin fought her as Pyrrha's aura pulsed around him, what little she didn't know she still had left flowing between them to settle over his soul. He let her see a glimpse of what he couldn't keep back any longer, his own conflict by forcing her back to the most basic of reactions when their training had ceased to benefit from her overactive mind. He forced her against a hunter with no qualms to brutal honesty and a discerning eye for where exactly to place a light reminder of the danger they were dealing with. Pyrrha felt where his wish to keep her safe clashed with the need to push her into new understanding.

She noted the fiercely possessive hint in his tone as he asked her to pull back her aura, his request vague until she realized the amount of adrenaline that rushed through them because of her. Pyrrha noted his awareness of her as she reined in the rush of battle as it laced with a hint of desire untouched by trepidation. With a small smile she couldn't help, the huntress knew it wasn't entirely her own. Now Pyrrha understood a little bit more why Winter and Qrow had fallen into the other after the heat of battle and how some teams became couples even before graduation. There was a delicious hint to the air and she wished she could turn back time to the moonlit night where it would have been so easy to pull Ozpin to her rather than shy away at her own indecisiveness.

“Nice spar, spitfire,” Qrow drawled behind her, Pyrrha trying and failing to force her muscles to turn to him. “You're worth my time to teach.”

“You make it sound-” Pyrrha had to draw a breath “-as though I still don't have a say in the matter.”

Qrow took a knee in front of her to see her better and she grinned up at him through her straggled hair to see him shrug with a quirked brow, asking a silent question. Pyrrha glanced up over his shoulder to see Ozpin regaining control over himself, placing the staff back on the weapons rack and picking up his cane and mug after a quick adjustment of his jacket. She saw him smile lightly before she turned back to Qrow with a tease of her own.

“You're not as good as Winter. But you'll do.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this chapter contains some romance. If you're not comfortable with such things, this isn't the chapter for you. To be fair, it is pretty tame, but still.

There were little moments throughout the day now where it was harder to keep to herself than to reach out to share. The huntress had no doubt Ozpin felt her presence cut through his attention, a small joy here or a slight sigh there, and she savored the rare moments he had to reach to her during the day. While he was ever respectful of her studies, Pyrrha in turn was careful to keep rein when she knew he was preoccupied, but they couldn't help the minute experiences that structured each day. Something as simple as the smile when Team RWBY waved Pyrrha over to join them at breakfast or the sip of tea when a guest had just left Ozpin's office after too long a meeting – it was nearly magic.

The magic in the cane thrummed and hummed when Pyrrha dared listen close after their aural trances, the goddess-spirit aching for release; it seemed to Pyrrha that she could hear it only after sharing her meditative space with Ozpin. Some days were clearer than others, especially now that she had broken another barrier between her abilities and weaknesses. Sometimes she dreamed of the Relic in the gnarled tree, sometimes of the golden-haired Maiden calling from a pool of stars, and the music they made woke her with a start as it reached a crescendo of invitation she could hardly deny. She'd wake, sweating and shivering in her bed, trying to keep from disturbing Jaune or Ren with the tossing and turning as she tried to get comfortable again. Some nights seemed hardly worth her effort to try to sleep and, nearly a week after her spar with Qrow, the huntress quietly reached through the inky void to feel if Ozpin was awake.

_Another nightmare?_ he asked, his presence in her heart as comfortable as a cat curled in front of a fireplace. Pyrrha felt the rough tapestry of the furniture in his private study, sensed a hint of something dark and caffeinated in his mug nearby, and realized she had interrupted him in reading. Emerald-hued shadows drifted in corners of the study as she shifted in her own dark room.

_Not so much nightmare as-_

Pyrrha struggled to find a description for the elation that offset the terror as she waded through the murky waters of her subconscious. She knew Ozpin, to some extent, could feel her confusion but she didn't know whether or not that was an entirely accurate assessment of just how confused she was when she woke up from the dreams.

_They started after the Maiden-powers reached out to me,_ she shared, allowing Ozpin to glimpse her recollection of the shimmering hands beckoning to her, inadvertently letting a slip of the desire and conflict she felt when waking from a far different dream than the one that just woke her that night. The two experiences had been so linked together in her mind that she couldn't unwind them before tossing them to the celestial chasm between their souls. She sensed Ozpin smile lightly as he contemplated.

_If you would like to join me, there are comforts that have missed you in your absence._

In the last week, she had focused on completing assignments in the evening and working ahead in as much of her coursework as possible to accommodate the Vytal Festival schedule. When she undoubtedly passed the second and third qualification assessments to compete in the Tournament, there wouldn't be much time for routine. Some students preferred to slack and get whatever grade they got in return for the lack of attention paid but Pyrrha hadn't worked this hard to get into and stay at Beacon to ignore her classes.

Ozpin had asked Qrow to assist Team GLMR as they met up with their classmates to reinforce Team CFVY's mission, the Impromptu Combat Instructor grumbling about babysitting as the four young women giggled and their bejeweled huntress costumes sparkled in the late winter sun. As he was gone and wouldn't be back until the evening of the second qualifier, Pyrrha had had a nearly blissful time training with Weiss and Norah.

She focused on her student life, a tiny piece of her continuously aware things were changing and she needed to enjoy as much of this as she could, but she missed her soft blanket and her stack of texts relating to anything to do with aura or the Maidens. She missed a mug of tea and the way prisms threw back pinpricks of light when the moonbeams through the windows hit them just right. She missed Ozpin's kind hand resting on her feet when he joined her and the way he'd glance at her over the top of his book when he sat apart. She was complete without him, she knew what loneliness was and their absence from each other wasn't the same thing, but Pyrrha was comforted knowing he wanted her with him as much as she wanted to be there.

Without a word, she slipped from the dormitory, feeling Ozpin's pleasure when she went with her whole heart.

 

-

 

The book she held started to droop, her hands weakening as sleep threatened to take her away on soft dark wings. Flames crackled in the fireplace, a familiar and pleasant scent of pine and ash drifting over her as she nestled her cheek into the soft velvet of Ozpin's jacket. His heart beat steady, firm, and she lost herself in his rhythm as he sent a tickle down her neck by grazing the fine hairs with one long finger.

“Should we retire?”

His voice slipped over her, silky like the nightdress she wore her first evening in his guest rooms, and she lazily shook her head. Ozpin had taken a stack of plush cushions and strewn them in front of the fireplace, pushing aside the footstool with its scrambling mahogany fieldmice to rest his lean form along the floor. Pyrrha was startled when she arrived at his private study to see one of the most powerful men in Remnant sprawled in front of her on the ground like a student between classes. Noting the stack of books stacked neatly next to him that hadn't yet been touched and a slightly taller stack nearby that betrayed his dismissal of their contents, she guessed he had been reading here in front of the fireplace for hours before her interruption.

With a gesture, he offered her his hand and she brought the soft grey blanket with her from the settee as she joined him by his side, curling into his arm as he held open a book with widespread fingers, glasses precariously balanced on the bridge of his nose. Pyrrha opened her own book and tucked it against her knees as she drew her feet close and pulled the blanket around them. The comfort of his presence, the informal display of affection by a man whose heartbeat lulled her to the brink of sleep, created a safe haven she never wanted to leave. Now, as he tried to wake her, she was torn between agreeing and protesting, thinking of her soft bed in comparison to the hard floor that dug into her joints where the cushions didn't quite support her. The fire was warm enough that the blanket was near stifling but it was a welcome relief from the last days of winter's grip that chilled Vale without mercy. Pyrrha noted Ozpin's breathing had grown steady and deep, the man nearly asleep himself, and she felt her heart constrict at their comfortable companionship.

“We should,” she agreed reluctantly, Ozpin sensing the hesitation in her voice.

“But?”

“I don't want to leave you,” Pyrrha admitted, tensing before she could release the fear of ridicule or admonishment. She knew he would never shame her but she realized the potential to create a dilemma and unintentionally chip at his reluctance to initiate anything overly intimate while they were pursuing their studies. The huntress distracted herself with the texture of his vest along the edges of his coat, skipping over the buttons and seams with a steady hand. She felt Ozpin reflexively grip her shoulder and pause at her neck on their way along the path he had traced until they both started to drift away into slumber. She dared run a hand along his vest and under his unbuttoned jacket, wrapping her arm across him in an embrace; turning into him, she breathed deep and sighed as he closed the book he still held in one hand. He took off his glasses, placing them on top of the stack of books, and their frames glinted in the firelight.

Instead of sitting up, Ozpin pulled her tighter to him, simultaneously startling and thrilling her. The huntsman gathered her close and she felt her heart race even as she relaxed deeper in his embrace. One arm wrapped possessively around her back and hand buried in her hair, the other arm settling around her to press a hand against her shoulder, guiding her to lean against him as he matched her sigh. Pyrrha's blood rushed as he slipped his fingertips across her bare skin, trying to determine if it was accidental or an invitation.

“Do you truly wish to join me tonight?”

She placed a kiss to the hollow of his neck, soft and sweet, and he knew the answer for what she intended it to be; it wasn't at a lustful display but an acknowledgment as his fingers wound themselves deeper into her hair. She kissed his skin again with the tentativeness of a new lover, her hand curled between them stretching to finger a button on his vest. Her breath on his breastbone was tantalizing, whether or not she knew it, and he encouraged her to continue her attentions.

The soft firelight caught in her red hair and he abandoned tracing nonsensical patterns on her skin to marvel at how the molten strands slipped through his fingers. As he reveled in the feeling, Pyrrha unwound her arm from under his jacket and held the curve of his jaw in her hand, her own fingertips drifting over the silver strands tucked behind his ear. She kissed the pulse that rushed along his neck, tasted the salt of his skin, and she stopped breathing when he stifled a moan at her gentle exploration.

“Too much?”

Her voice was muffled from where she buried her face into his shoulder, releasing his shirt collar from where she had pulled it away to kiss where his shoulder met his neck, and Ozpin couldn't deny himself any longer.

“Not enough,” he answered softly, slipping her underneath him and setting lingering kisses at her temples and behind her ears. He placed his hips to the side of hers and let one long finger follow her hairline to fall to the tip of her ear, then relished her fluttering pulse, finding a subtle way to slip away the neckline of her shirt to reveal a smooth patch of warm skin. He buried his face into her shoulder, breathing her in, and she caught herself in a quiet exhilaration at his touch. Leaning his weight on a crooked elbow, he was careful to let her show him what was most comfortable for her.

His lips drifted over her, sweet and soft in their sensual lingering as he kissed his way along her collarbone. She gasped when he grazed his teeth at the tip of her shoulder and his breath was hot on her skin. Winding her arm through his, she gripped him tight, each finger digging into velvet to feel the lean muscles underneath.

Pyrrha started to push his heavy jacket off his shoulders and, realizing her wish through the gentle but inexperienced fumblings of her hands, he knelt and shrugged off the velvet in one smooth motion, tossing the jacket onto a chair without taking his eyes from the woman below him.

Her hair spread out over the cushions, her quickened breath betrayed her desire as her emerald green eyes searched his expression. She didn't know to continue by the catch in his own breath as he looked at her, the unspoken permission in his exposed neckline as he unbuttoned the topmost button on his own shirt, and he returned to Pyrrha to kiss along the corners of her mouth. He delighted in teasing her, in the hints and promises his tongue made as it flicked at her skin, the stroke of just one or two fingers along the most sensitive angles of her neck, and she wrapped an arm along the back of his neck to pull him closer.

She felt his strong chest rest against her own, one of his hands running under her shoulder to pull her tighter to him, and his deep inhale against her neck told her she could easily relinquish setting their pace. Eager to feel his lips against her own again, Pyrrha untangled her arms from around his neck to cup his jaw in her hands, guiding him to a heart-stopping kiss that made every muscle sing for release. His lips claimed hers and, caught in his return for her enthusiasm, he pulled her hands away and wove his fingers with her own, pinning the backs of her hands against the floor with his palms.

He had her permission, her trust. But, despite her eager anticipation, part of her quaked. Shaking less from desire and more from uncertainty, she felt him hesitate before slowing his kisses, whispering to her as he regained a calmer demeanor. It was agonizing to feel him pull his hands from her own as he leaned over her, stroking her hair as they spoke.

“I'm sorry,” Pyrrha said, looking away from his honeyed amber eyes and steadying herself. As her roving attention caught sight of a mahogany wolf in its dash across the edge of the mantle, she stiffened and Ozpin nearly took it for a sign to back away before realizing her reaction had nothing to do with him. He continued his path through her hair, gently guiding her attentions back to him.

“Forgive me, _carah_ ,” he said, using a term of endearment she had only read before, never assuming someday someone would say it to her the way he just had. Of all the sentiments she knew of to refer to another person in any language she knew on Remnant, one of the oldest and deepest expressions was to describe someone as belonging to their very soul. It was considered old-fashioned, only referenced by older generations about their youngest progeny, or in ancient texts about fabled lovers. The meaning in the moment went well beyond surprise at how naturally the word came to him, how easy it jumped from his flowing voice, and she knew eternity was suspended in that one all-encompassing expression of love.

“Never be sorry,” he continued, Pyrrha's throat closed and she fought for her next breath when she heard the affection in his voice. “I- it has been-”

She smiled up at him, closing the distance between their lips with a tender kiss. He didn't have to explain. While there was no one before him, not even a fumbled kiss on a cheek by an admirer, the red-haired huntress assumed there were those who came before her. Checking the possessiveness in her tightened grip as her arms wrapped back around him, she felt him relax in her embrace. There were things he kept from her, things she knew she had a right to know, but this was not one of those secrets she would demand of him. If it had been so long since he held another that he trembled the way he did at her touch, she would forgive herself for her momentary fear of the unknown.

 

-

 

Dawn broke in a filmy purple haze as Pyrrha sat with a mug of coffee outside the Great Hall, waiting for her team. Her armor reflected the few rays of light that pierced through clouds to announce the beginning of a new day at Beacon Academy, outlining her tall and muscled form as she leaned against a wooden pillar, and her hip scarf swayed in the light drafts dancing through the corridor.

She still tingled where the memories of Ozpin's touch slipped across her skin. They kissed, talked, touched and kissed again, until her exhaustion caught up against passion and they sleep together on the cushions in front of the fireplace. Ozpin's velvet jacket, removed by the Headmaster himself, was the only piece of clothing discarded the entire evening but Pyrrha felt as though she had done something that was written all over her body for anyone to see. Something exhilarating, different than anything she had ever done before, and yet comforting; the feeling like she belonged now to an unmapped but well-known corner of the universe reserved for those who knew solace in the arms of a former stranger.

His arms held her as she dozed, his silky voice sharing insignificant little stories about certain books stacked near them and how he acquired them, and she felt the pleasure of his pulse racing whenever she'd place a kiss at his neck. His amber eyes flamed in the intensity of the fire she remembered from their first meeting in his study, the rush of heat consuming her to a dizzying whirl as he caught her gaze in his; Pyrrha felt them study her as she studied him, fingertips tracing her arm lovingly while she betrayed her trembling as she brushed aside a stray lock of silvery hair. Without pressure, without rush, she took the evening to know how the scars on his hands fit against her and savored the pleasure of comfort when desire became overwhelming.

She took notice of how careful Ozpin had been to leave no mark on her skin, glancing at her neck and shoulders in the mirror while she placed her pile of garments near the steaming shower. After leaving his study shortly before daybreak, she went quickly and quietly to collect her clothes and a towel from her dormitory while her brain rearranged the world as she knew it every time she thought of his endearment.

Pyrrha savored the hot water as she readied herself for the second qualification match in a few short hours and the huntress was thankful she had readied both her armor and uniform the previous night. Students, staff, and distinguished guests from Vacuo would arrive mid-morning, an assembly providing everyone an opportunity to meet, and a welcome dinner would follow that evening; although she was not as egotistical to believe she would be recognized, Pumpkin Pete's cereal wasn't limited to one specific kingdom and she still carried the reputation as one of the rising stars of Remnant's new generation of hunters and huntresses. Any questions she would encounter from her teammates as to where she disappeared last night would be quickly overshadowed by new and interesting people visiting the school and she was excited to see what interesting Semblances and combat techniques would show themselves in match-ups in the coming weeks.

While the soft grey of early things lifted to reveal a brilliant warmth, an announcement of orange and yellow streaking across the sky that promised a bright blue sky only just beyond, she turned with a smile. Jaune, Ren, and Norah made their way to her, illuminated in that glorious dawn, and Pyrrha wondered how she could feel any better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone asks, nope, they didn't. Yup, they will. But not now. Pardon me as I blush my way into oblivion.
> 
> Also, a note on "carah" - intended as a bastardization of the Latin form of "dearest," not so much the Irish term for "friend" or any Romantic language that uses "cara" to describe a friend/lover/special person. As evidenced by the title of the story, I've been influenced by the fact I have had to take enough Latin as my college language requirement that, years later, I can still grumble about the effort it took to write and speak well enough to pass those courses. Almost angrily, I apply my right to pin shreds of the language to the purposes of fanfiction. (The song that inspired the story is partially in Latin, as well...)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now, after this chapter, firmly of the belief Chapters 1-23 are Act I. I didn't know I was going to have an Act I but here we are. 24-? are Act II. Let us hope we don't need an Act III.
> 
> Life happens and things happen and I took a break for a little while. Now I've thrown off my groove.
> 
> Dress shopping, repetitiveness, and weird fluff/drama ahead. I blame the lack of groove.

Water wound its way around riverstones, pulling eddies of sand along the swirling shore and sparkling under the bright sun. Filtered by sweeping canopies of leaves that rustled in a soft breeze, honey-gold light streamed across Pyrrha and Ozpin as they sat upon the large flat stone at the river’s edge. Birdsong, set to the familiar tune of one of Aunt May’s lullabies, rang out at intervals over the gentle patter of water over rock and the heat of Ozpin’s hands in Pyrrha’s own was far more warming than the quiet summer afternoon projection of their shared aural trance.

The burden of their meditation was gradually becoming easier to carry and the red-haired huntress could accomplish a connection with Ozpin faster with every lesson; she wondered if her lessened boundaries with the Headmaster of Beacon Academy were the only reason or if she was actually beginning to look forward to meeting her destiny as the next Fall Maiden. The hope in her heart was a slow transformation from the despair she once carried in the pit of her stomach and Pyrrha joined Ozpin in the vaults of the school with less trepidation; the dim glow of wards and Dust-infused stones glittered in the emerald light as they sat cross-legged to continue their studies. They slipped easily into Pyrrha’s childhood forest, into her careful construct of memories that helped clear her mind and restructure her perspectives, and Ozpin’s presence was no longer dizzyingly foreign.

As Pyrrha felt his fingers wrap tighter around her own, she knew the warning and prepared herself for more of the pressure that would soon feel as though she was being smothered if she didn’t anticipate it. The trees wilted ever so slightly around them, the water slowing as it wrapped around the flat rock and threatened to flood them from their perch, and she swallowed hard as she braced against the surge of energies.

“Very good,” Ozpin murmured, supporting her efforts without hesitating as he transferred even more of the responsibility of their aural trance to the huntress. She held the weight of them until the trees straightened and the water resumed its previous lazy level. After months, she still couldn’t establish or terminate the connection herself without much assistance, or facilitate the aural trance in full, but Pyrrha was continually reassured there was only the limit of time.

“You’re finding new pathways and new paths are never easily traveled,” Ozpin said, Pyrrha listening to his words as she closed her eyes and let the breeze cool them. Ozpin’s silver hair shone and his smile distracted her so she focused on the soft questions of crickets and humming bugs from the shadowed depths of the woods. Her scarlet hip scarf thrown across her lap, she felt the fabric ripple against her skin, the tip of the hem grazing the water. In their solitude, she found strength without compromise and, as she resettled her hands in Ozpin’s, she breathed through the discomfort of the added force of their trance across her shoulders.

“You manage well enough,” she said without a hint of frustration. “If we’re the first to do this, or at least the first according to Remnant’s records, how can you be so sure?”

“I think you know I’m sure of nothing now,” he answered with a smile, Pyrrha glancing at him with a twitch at her own lips before resuming her breathing patterns to calm her nerves. Every increase in her responsibilities during their aural trance came with repercussion that threatened nausea and dizziness later if she didn’t handle her own physical and emotional reaction within their connection. “I’ve had many years to learn much and much of it has helped beyond expectation. Some of the meditation techniques I’ve taught you have not come from a book but rather from when I was a student of masters.”

Listening to the birdsong, Pyrrha thought of broaching a subject she had never found an opportunity to hook in conversation, not without being immensely rude or risking his mood changing. Ozpin was always secretive with his past, never sharing anything more beyond a few details irrelevant to describing himself whenever she had attempted to ascertain how old he was. It didn’t matter much, more of a curiosity than concern, but Pyrrha hadn’t anticipated a mentor who would also share a soft kiss goodnight when she left his study. He had gently pushed back whenever she had pried for more information about his past, giving her a glance that informed her she would not receive an answer. Ozpin was a blend of youthful cheer, sage and somber insight, and quiet perspective in a world that seemed to demand his constant attention. Short of asking Ironwood or Qrow, she had no way of knowing what he had done before leading Beacon Academy.

She opened her eyes to catch how he looked at her, the slip she knew he occasionally allowed himself in their studies that showed her his attraction wasn’t entirely contained despite his efforts; even now, as he supported their shared bond in the sacred woods where Pyrrha kept her spirit, he looked at her the way she never dared hope, and no question was worth interrupting that moment. She smiled as they continued their lesson, listening closely as Ozpin’s words wrapped around the beat of her own heart.

 

-

 

Intermediate Weapons Modification went well enough for Ren and Norah that both were in a good mood at dinner, Jaune still hopelessly lost when it came to creatively engaging his sword and shield in the improvements assigned, and Pyrrha enjoyed hearing their stories over the din of the dinning hall. With students from Shade Academy in Vacuo settled in at Beacon and Mistral’s delegation from Haven Academy having arrived the day before last, the previously spacious hall was quickly becoming louder and louder at every meal. Team JNPR was back in the rhythm of Pyrrha’s absences from certain classes and Norah gave Pyrrha a stack of assignments that made the red-haired huntress blink several times in surprise at how little there was to do.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Positive,” Norah nearly shouted in exuberance as she dug into her first bite of dinner. “Doctor Oobleck is the only one giving out actual homework right now. Professor Port let us ask him some questions about the third round today.”

“What did he share?”

“He didn’t,” Norah answered through a mouthful of vegetables. “But he at least let us ask!”

The instructors had kept the final step of the qualifying battles secretive and it seemed to Pyrrha that it was more of an attempt to keep students focused on their work rather than confirm or deny rumors. Second-round qualifiers had been harder for most than first-round, the winners allowed to advance to the doubles round in the tournament should their team get that far, but third-round was supposed to be the most difficult. Third-round qualifiers were the most exciting not just because of the physical stamina required but the unique and potentially dangerous conditions placed on the match. Some of the older students told stories of their third-round matches from earlier years, some of the visitors sharing what they’d witnessed when their schools hosted, and the variables were never the same.

One year, when Shade Academy hosted, all the third-round contestants were placed on the battlefloor together and anyone who kept their aura above a certain percentage by the end of the mass free-for-all were allowed to proceed to the championship round of the tournament. Another year, according to a student from Haven Academy, Mistral placed so many conditions on battle that there were too few students who could win their match while following the rules and the tournament challenges were adjusted to almost boring expectations to overcompensate. Every host school brought different rules to the qualifying rounds and it was a good bet the conditions in the third round would indicate the flavor of battle in the tournament itself.

“I was expecting Ruby to do better than she did in the second round,” Ren shared as he took his juice back from Norah before she drained it. Jaune sank into his seat as the entire team remembered Ruby had at least done better than Jaune, the young hunter losing all aura as he fought Team RSTY and getting knocked out as their team leader gloated while delivering the disqualifying blow himself. Jaune would not be allowed to advance to the doubles round in tournament should Team JNPR win their first group matchup. Pyrrha, having taken on Team CRDL in her first round, was given Team WREN and finished the match in record time; Norah and Ren had also won their second round but Norah declared she would go doubles with Pyrrha if they advanced and Ren could give Jaune a play-by-play from the cushy participant seating.

“So was I,” Ruby said as she sat down at the table with a heavy sigh. Blake and Yang flanked her, each trying to cheer their teammate up with the same renditions of advice and support they’d been repeating since the second qualifying match. Neither of them mentioned Ruby’s youth was blindingly obvious as she wove her way across the battlefloor against Team WXYT; she was certainly a talented young huntress but there were so many small things that stacked against her in the course of battle that she had barely qualified to continue on to doubles should Team RWBY advance in the tournament.

“We’ll just spend more time practicing,” she said with a shrug, unusually morose.

“We’re on as intense a practice regiment as your uncle allows,” Blake mentioned, reminding Ruby of the happy fact her Uncle Qrow was now a near daily presence in her life. “When he isn’t teaching Pyrrha, he’s with us and, honestly, I could use a break.”

“How’s that been going with Uncle Qrow?” Yang asked Pyrrha, the red-haired huntress hesitant to share that she was actually fairly annoyed with Qrow often enough that she found herself wishing for Winter’s strict and unforgiving training style. She felt her time was wasted waiting for the dusty old crow – he hadn’t shown up on time once in the dozens of training sessions they’d had – and he sometimes smelled so overwhelmingly of alcohol that she wondered how many times he refilled his flask before making his way to the practice room. But he was always fierce, always so intense in his attacks, that Pyrrha found herself trembling in exhaustion at the end of every lesson.

“I have a session with him tonight,” Pyrrha shared, rolling the statement as casually as she could and smiling in the way she did when she didn’t want to share more than what she already was. Norah was beginning to learn that smile and Pyrrha noted that her bubbly teammate was watching. Norah had not asked after the shining button Velvet had brought her, had not asked any more about where Pyrrha went in the evenings when she wasn’t back at the dormitory until nearly sunrise, and had deflected any questions about Pyrrha’s aura training beyond what the team already knew, but Pyrrha knew her friend had as many questions as the rest of her classmates.

“You’re going to miss dress shopping!”

Norah flung herself across the table to grab Pyrrha’s arms, shaking her, and Jaune balked as the whole table was thrown into enough chaos that students nearby stopped what they were doing to look.

“If you’re not going, I’m not going,” Blake announced, picking at her food while Ruby begged Pyrrha to let her come with to her training session with Qrow. Yang snorted as Norah tried to wipe butter off the front of her school uniform, the blazer completely coated after launching herself across the condiments to reach Pyrrha, and Ren handed Norah all the napkins at the table without looking up from his meal.

“You know what Weiss will have to say about that,” Yang rolled her eyes as nearly everyone glanced around to make sure the Schnee heiress wasn’t nearby. “She’s been on us about this night for weeks.”

Weiss, upon finding out nearly everyone was ill prepared for the formal dance marking the opening of tournament festivities, booked an entire shop for a private fitting. Norah and Pyrrha already had dresses but Norah was so excited to go to Vale with Team RWBY that she declared she was going to look for a new dress for the sheer fun of it. Pyrrha, keeping in mind how much credit she had on hand and how she had allotted none of it to new clothing for the school year, said she would go to help with any indecisiveness her classmates might have. Blake, Yang, and Ruby had all whined about the trip into town but Weiss had been firm: it would be a very bad time for anyone who didn’t represent Team RWBY, the hostesses of the dance, to her standards.

“She might think you got out of it on purpose,” Blake said. Pyrrha knew Blake was hoping for her opinion on what might look best, her friend sharing that she only wanted to buy the right dress once and for the right reasons. Pyrrha couldn’t help but glance from Blake to Yang as the blonde huntress blew a funny kiss at a boy from Vacuo who wasn’t keeping his eyes to himself.

“Qrow wanted to move our lesson from last night to tonight and I completely forgot about our trip when I agreed,” Pyrrha admitted, flushing in shame. She clung to her moments with her friends, the rare opportunity between training, classes, assignments, and practice where she could be with the first friends she ever had in her life. They were always there for her and now she had forgotten about one of the most talked about excursions they’d ever had together. Weiss had even secured special permission to be off school grounds beyond curfew, citing the need to partake in official Vytal Festival business and it was her right as the planner for one of the biggest events of the year; Professor Port had dismissed her halfway through her rehearsed speech with the casual gesture that demonstrated he would agree to anything as long as she stopped talking.

“If you take me with you to practice, I could help you! Then we could not go shopping together!’

Ruby’s desperation was never so apparent and Pyrrha shook her head. Qrow, in one of the rare moments of seriousness that cut through to temporary sobriety, had told Pyrrha there would be no risk to Ozpin’s insistence on privacy. One slip, he had said, and that person tells another person, and that person tells someone else, and then that mixed up message gets to the wrong person. They’d lose the gift of discretion in the most dangerous way: who knows who knows what when it came to the Maidens? Qrow’s point was clear and Pyrrha could see it was just killing Ruby that she couldn’t participate in every single thing her uncle did at Beacon.

“I know where he’s ticklish,” she listed, her teammates ignoring her as Pyrrha tried to finish her meal. “I know which strikes he likes to use on his left and where he starts his guard on his right. I know he’s a tough teacher, and getting slapped around with Harbringer isn’t much fun, but he’s really the best hunter in the kingdom. Probably all the kingdoms! One time, he-“

“Ruby?” Pyrrha asked, a sudden thought crossing her mind and escaping through her mouth before she could put a filter into place. “Has Qrow shared anything about who attacked him during winter break?”

Her friend’s faces went dark and Ruby began to angrily stab at her dinner with a fork.

“Nothing yet. But, let me tell you, when I find out who hurt him…”

Pyrrha guiltily shot a look at Blake, who was disapprovingly shaking her head at Pyrrha. They had just cheered Ruby up and now she was in revenge-mode again. Between forgetting about an engagement and uncharacteristically bringing up something knowingly upsetting to the teams, Pyrrha knew Norah wouldn’t be the only one to hold back questions out of their own kindness for her. Suspicions would arise and Blake was no fool to ignore what Pyrrha was getting at.

Blake had gone on the lookout for Qrow several times since admitting to Pyrrha she was spying on Qrow’s behalf in Vale but no one had seen Cinder since that distressing night. Pyrrha hadn’t admitted to anyone except Ozpin and Qrow that Cinder was her cousin. Ozpin never answered her when she asked why he responded “Not yet” when she had asked if Cinder was a Maiden and she never wanted to ask Qrow about that night again. She knew nothing more about her cousin than she had after Cinder ran away; she must have used an alias or worked through her henchmen for any despicable deed she had done since cutting off contact with Pyrrha and Aunt May because the red-haired huntress couldn’t find anything new about her in any of the CCT searches she requested.

There was also no sign yet that Ruby or Yang knew about Pyrrha’s involvement and she simultaneously wanted it to stay that way and yet fully admit her role in his near-death fight with Roman Torchwick. The guilt she carried about her secrets paled in comparison to the shame she felt about having a hand in Qrow’s grievous injury. Qrow had done a well enough job demonstrating to them all that he was very nearly healed completely, neither Ruby nor Pyrrha holding back anymore in combat practice. Ruby was eager to launch herself at Qrow, earning a round of applause from the onlookers in the training room as Team RWBY took turns against the fierce hunter, but Pyrrha had been rewarded with an undignified throw to the ground when she once hinted at hesitation; he warned her to never neglect the open opportunity to strike when she saw it, the lesson of the afternoon becoming less about combat and more about Qrow’s temperament.

“If you’re staying, I’m staying,” Yang said, jumping on Ruby’s idea to join Pyrrha for practice. “Besides, one of Weiss’ dresses almost fits. I could probably- “

“Why aren’t any of you ready?!”

Weiss stood at the head of the table, hands on her hips as she stared down every woman in front of her. Jaune and Ren collected their plates in unison and muttered they’d see everyone later, escaping from Weiss’ wrath as the heiress realized the attempted mutiny of her evening out. Norah, Blake, and Yang dashed from their chairs and out of the dining hall, abandoning Ruby and Pyrrah to explain their way out of the incriminating conversation Weiss overheard.

“I have a lesson with Qrow tonight,” Pyrrha shared, feeling her false smile fade the moment she looked at Weiss; it was almost startling to see how much she looked like Winter in times of anger and, if she knew Winter as well as she thought she did, Weiss was as furious at them as Winter had been at General Ironwood during Pyrrha’s visit to Atlas.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Weiss snapped, whispers starting around them that Weiss Schnee was about to throw a tantrum of gargantuan proportion. Weiss had once indeed been a spoiled child who had eventually grown into a thoughtful, caring, and judicious young huntress-in-training but anyone who followed Atlasian gossip knew to look out for the famous Schnee temper.

“Um, well, no?” Ruby answered, grabbing her glass of milk and holding it between her and Weiss like a very small and ineffective shield. “Why do you ask?”

“Professor Ozpin won’t let us off school grounds past curfew without security,” Weiss spat, her anger directed toward something other than her two classmates. Pyrrha realized who she might be referring to, realized why Qrow had switched their evenings, and it took all her effort to keep from cradling her face in her hands.

“Your Uncle Qrow is meeting us in Vale when curfew starts,” Weiss said, spinning on her heel and tossing her long white hair over her shoulder, glancing back at them over her shoulder. “Now, are you coming or do I need to carry you both out?”

 

-

 

Representatives and tournament participants from Shade Academy went without uniforms, dressed in whatever struck their fancy, and the few students from Haven Academy milled around Vale in their uniforms with a much more subdued air than their Vacuo counterparts. New faces stood out among small crowds as Team RWBY, Norah, and Pyrrha made their way to the heart of the shopping district. Now that Spring was approaching, the evenings were longer and sunset was still far from thought as the young women stepped across puddles of melting snow. The fresh air cleared Pyrrha’s mind as she realized she was holding herself tensely as they passed the hidden tavern, filthy secrets just feet away, and she dismissed Ozpin’s quirked questioning as he checked if she was alright.

_Just the first time I’ve been to Vale since…_

_Ahh, yes,_ he replied silkily. She could tell he was settled at his desk in the Headmaster’s office, a fresh cup of tea readily accessible as he worked through the evening himself. _Do be sure to keep our good friend in sight when you arrive at your destination – he’ll keep watch while Ms. Schnee undoubtedly enjoys herself readying you all for the dance._

Pyrrha felt herself blush, not wanting to admit she was ashamed to have special allowance to break rules for the sake of silly fashion and yet excited to have an evening out with her friends. To be treated like a girlfriend, a best friend, one of the group, had never felt so good. For a little while yet, she could embrace her youth.

 _The weight of the world can wait_ , Ozpin agreed and she smiled to herself as they turned from each other to focus on their tasks at hand.

Their connection could be awkward at times, Pyrrha realizing she wasn’t paying as much attention in class as she should while thinking of Ozpin’s voice before doubling down on her embarrassment when she knew the Headmaster himself likely picked up on her distraction. A particular morning involving a hot shower had startled her so badly that Norah teased her as Pyrrha fumbled for her fallen books, walking to breakfast with her team before class while Ozpin was starting his day. She still wasn’t sure if the moment was completely accidental and his smile seemed a bit more knowing when she passed him in the courtyard that afternoon.

The red-haired huntress sighed, pulling herself from her fond recollections as Norah splashed through a large puddle. Her teammate grabbed Pyrrha’s hand, pulling her through the puddle, and Pyrrha laughed as Norah started swinging her in a waltz as they followed behind Team RWBY.

“You’re so quiet lately,” Norah said, fumbling her steps. “You sigh sometimes the way Ren does.”

Pyrrha, knowing quite well why Ren did what he did when he watched Norah, froze up and pushed the thought to the deepest depths she could find in her mind before it escaped her and made its way to Ozpin. She tripped over Norah and the girls rolled to the ground, taking out Ruby on their way and all three laughing harder to see Blake’s confused expression looming over them.

“I can’t dance any better now than I could at the beginning of the school year,” Norah giggled, helping Ruby up as Blake pulled Pyrrha back to her feet. “Ren’s going to end up black and blue by the end of the night!”

“So he asked you?”

“Nope, but I asked him and he didn’t say no,” Norah answered Yang as the six girls made way for a group of Mistral students to pass them. The tempting scent of coffee and pastries wafted from a nearby shop and Pyrrha peeked through the windows on their way past to see Velvet and a tall boy sitting cozily together in a plush booth. A jewelry store nearby sparkled to catch Blake’s interest and Weiss casually offered the contents of her own jewelry box the night of the dance, Blake adamantly denying her confidence in wearing such expensive things. Weiss smiled as she pointed out that those earrings and that necklace were by a specific designer who had once come to the Schnee mansion to create a special piece for Winter.

“Father was so proud to tell people that Winter had been accepted to all four huntsmen schools with the highest scores of any other applicant, not that Winter would have ever considered anything but Atlas Academy anyway, that he commissioned the necklace for her,” Weiss said airly, Yang pulling Blake away from the glittering gems as they continued on their way. “In private, though, he was furious. He didn’t want her to go to a huntsman academy. Winter was expected to learn to take over the family business instead of running around with a sword. She still sometimes wears the necklace but mostly wherever it’ll be recognized rather than because she likes it.”

“Has Winter been in contact since Ironwood’s announcement?”

Pyrrha genuinely missed Winter’s presence at Beacon, the Specialist’s ship a missing piece of the West wing’s landing pad when Pyrrha glanced across the skyline of the school. Although she was terrifying, cold, and always seemed to be judging her, Winter became a part of Pyrrha’s life at a very trying time and the huntress could see why Weiss was comforted by Winter’s presence. When Winter was around, things were going to be done, and done right. She wondered if the collar dripping in sapphires and diamonds was the necklace Weiss spoke of and if Weiss herself had ever received such false and emotionally loaded gifts from her family. Myrtenaster shone at Weiss’ side, polished and bright against the black and white of her skirt and tightly buttoned jacket, and Pyrrha wanted to ask if that, too, had started as a burden.

“The whole kingdom has an opinion, of course,” Weiss answered as her thigh-high leather boots clicked sharply against the cobblestone, her tone sharing what she really thought of those with opinions. “Generally, she’s favored and those who count believe Ironwood couldn’t have done better.”

“What do you think? Your sister is going to run a huntsman academy! You’re not going to transfer, are you?”

Ruby’s rapid-fire questioning appeared to take Weiss off guard but Pyrrha recognized the pleasure in having her opinion sought, Weiss softening as she only could with Ruby.

“I wouldn’t lie and say I haven’t thought of it,” Weiss answered, Ruby sulking immediately before the heiress continued. “Winter needs to focus on her role, though, and I’d be distracted, too.”

“Isn’t she a little young to be a Headmaster?”

“Not at all. Atlas has had younger,” Weiss answered Blake, checking her scroll as she led them around a corner. “I’m quite a bit younger than Winter. She was in her second to last year of Academy while I was just starting Alsius. If you ask me, I’m surprised it took so long for Ironwood to make the announcement public.”

“Do you think, well, you know,” Yang said, making suggestive eyebrows as Weiss rolled her eyes, coming to a complete stop with her arms crossed. “I mean, Ironwood might be the General but he’s-“

“Winter wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“No, that’s not what I mean at all,” Yang quickly amended, watching Weiss’ eyes narrow. Norah took a step back as the tension between the two immediately made Blake move to Yang’s side to jump to the defense if necessary, Ruby joining Weiss in indignation. Yang wiped her face with her hands, apologizing as she stammered, “I just mean, they look pretty good together. Watching them on the newscasts, you’d think they could rule Remnant on a whim if they wanted.”

“So scary,” Ruby agreed, making chopping motions and topping it all off with a salute with an accompanying grimace. Pyrrha and Norah laughed together before a sharp buzzer sounded from the shop door behind Weiss.

“Ms. Schnee, we’re so glad you’ve arrived!” the tiny speaker shouted at them, a warm feminine voice welcoming Weiss as the haughty huntress forgave Yang for the accidental hint of insult against her beloved sister. “Please, please, come in!”

As the gleaming silver doors swung open on their own accord to let the girls in, Weiss took three steps before realizing she was alone. Everyone, Pyrrha included, was looking up at the marquee above the shop, gaping. She had only been to a fancy shop like this once in her life, having to collect a pair of boots from a designer’s huntress collection to wear for a photoshoot after her third Mistral Tournament win, and it had been one of the most uncomfortable experiences she’d ever had in a store. Blake slowly shook her head and even Ruby, the least aware of them all when it came to anything to do with fashion, said, “Noooope. Not a chance.”

“You’re being rude,” Weiss said, her patience clearly gone with this latest affront. “This is where I get all my clothes in Atlas. It’s just our luck they opened a shop here in Vale in advance for the tournament. I went through all this trouble to make sure each of us had an assistant and the place to ourselves tonight.”

Pyrrha immediately knew none of her credit on hand would cover even a scarf, much less a dress, but she joined Weiss, playfully chiding her friends.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“You’re lying,” Ruby immediately countered, Yang grabbing Ruby’s arm and Norah skipping a very hesitant Blake along after them as Weiss gave Pyrrha a thankful smile. As she followed Weiss through the gilded doors, she glanced across the street and saw a tattered red cape flick around the corner of a narrow alley, Qrow on guard as the evening wore on. The huntress became acutely aware of the bottom of her stomach as she realized Cinder was out there somewhere, planning something with the Black Fang deep within the shadows of Vale, and she was about to flit around a dress shop like she didn’t have a care in the world. A long pale hand waved her away impatiently, the glint of a flask shining as the streetlights began to flicker on around them, and Pyrrha followed Weiss inside with a heavier weight of shame than she had set out with.

 

-

 

“Not a chance,” Ruby said, fighting to be heard over Yang’s cooing over the red dress Ruby was begrudgingly modeling. “I’m not wearing this to the dance. I’m not wearing this ever.”

“It’s even your color,” Blake called from her own dressing room, handing her assistant a rejected gown.

“There’s no place to sling Crescent Rose!”

“You’re not bringing your weapon to the dance,” Weiss said impatiently, pulling several dresses off a rack and sizing them up before handing one to Yang’s assistant. Yang bounced up from her place on the tufted cushion in the middle of the room and stripped off her jacket on the way, getting into the excitement of preparing for the formal. The entire shop was posh, each assistant dressed impeccably, and Weiss promptly spun Blake, Ruby, and Yang into gowns the moment everyone was through the door. Norah was with her assistant, deciding between trying on a short green dress or a long pink gown, and Pyrrha was waiting on her own assistant, an older and quick-moving lady with short gold hair, to come back from a heated flurry of fingers on a keypad across the room.

“Weiss,” Blake called from her dressing room, slipping her huntress clothes back on as she remorsefully handed a modest black dress to her assistant. “It’s really kind of you to have us out at your favorite shop for the evening but we don’t have an allowance like yours. I can’t afford this.”

“You don’t need to own it,” the heiress said as flipped her hair and pulled another dress for Norah’s consideration. “We’re renting.”

“Renting?”

“Do you plan on attending another Vytal Festival dance besides the one we’re shopping for?”

“Still,” Blake countered, “I don’t think I have enough credit. I’m sorry, Weiss, but this just isn’t enjoyable if I’m wasting people’s time.”

“My gift to you for helping plan it all,” Weiss replied, cutting off her team as everyone started to groan and protest. Team RWBY had declared themselves independent of Weiss’ fortune after their first year together, noting everyone was uncomfortable with how often Weiss pulled out the Schnee Dust Company card, and renting dresses fell into the Too Much category of generosity.

“Weiss, we haven’t helped at all,” Blake countered, Weiss tossing them all a look that meant they were now most definitely helping from now until the big night.

“Pyrrha, you haven’t tried anything on yet,” Ruby said, creeping away from her assistant as she tried to put attention on the red-haired huntress rather than how short the assistant was trying to pin the hem of her dress.

“That’s just fine,” Pyrrha said, not wanting to draw attention to herself as she sat alone. “Watching everyone is so much more-“

“Ladies, I just got done talking with the perfect designer for our star,” the older woman with gold hair interrupted, gesturing for Ruby’s assistant to drop her work and run to the back room. “The moment you walked in the door, dear, I knew who you were.”

Yang peeked up over the dressing room door as all eyes glanced back and forth between Pyrrha and the large dressing bag heading her way. Pyrrha’s heart sunk as she realized this woman was about to uncover the depths of the fame and fortune Pyrrha had turned away before coming to Beacon.

“You never took advantage of all your available sponsorships after your Mistral Tournament wins, my dear,” the woman said with a knowing smirk. “You’ve had designers wanting to dress your athletic form for years and you’ve never returned a message. With all those photoshoots, you had so many offers and yet you’ve never shown up once in public with a purposeful look.”

Pyrrha didn’t know if she was being insulted but knew she didn’t want this lady to continue baring the secrets the huntress tried hard to hide. If she showed up with a designer wardrobe and wore the ridiculous fashions offered to her as prizes for her championship titles, everyone would treat her differently than how she wanted to be treated. She tried very hard to keep the spotlight from her life. The glamour and glitter of being a well-known athlete was never what she set out for and it was overwhelming whenever someone threw her into the world she tried to avoid. She felt herself slipping into the wide smile she was coached to give and inwardly cringed as she watched Norah drop her jaw.

“You never told us that, Pyrrha,” Yang squealed, dashing from the dressing room in a state of half dress, Blake averting her eyes with a slight blush as Norah did the same, her assistant trying to pull the green dress up over her shoulders as the huntress ran to give Pyrrha a hug. The red-haired huntress felt tears well in her eyes, her friends supporting her rather than the jealousy and coldness she anticipated. Whenever someone found out about what she was offered and how she turned it down, the response had never been an outpouring of support.

“We knew you were on the Pumpkin Pete’s cereal box but to have all that!”

“I never wanted it,” Pyrrha stuttered, spitting out Norah’s hair as her teammate squeezed her. “I just wanted to be the best huntress I could be. I never wanted the fame. It just happened.”

“You won so much money, though?”

“I gave it all to my Aunt May,” Pyrrha answered quickly, feeling distressed again at the sudden attention and dreading what was in the garment bag in front of her. “She raised me. She keeps it safe and we lived on it once she got sick. It was the least I could do for her after all she’s done for me.”

Blake and Weiss exchanged quick looks as Norah, Yang, and Ruby continued to surround Pyrrha with affection. The assistant with the coppery-gold hair took a step back, unsure now that the garment bag was being completely ignored and the reaction was not the squealing she expected.

“Please don’t treat me differently,” Pyrrha choked, regaining some confidence. “I didn’t go to Haven because everyone in Mistral thought they knew me. Sanctum was difficult - I didn’t have a single friend – and I can’t lose Beacon, too. I can’t stand the idea of being treated as anything other than your teammate.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Weiss scoffed, hands on hips again in a familiar stance that meant no nonsense. “Of course we wouldn’t. People treat me differently because I’m an heiress. Do I act like it?”

“Well, kinda,” Ruby offered. Weiss rolled her eyes.

“Only when I need to remind people who I am,” Weiss continued. “You know who you are. If it isn’t this, it isn’t this. Remind us if we ever forget.”

Pyrrha wiped her face and nodded, Yang pulling up the strap of her gown and Norah adjusting the hem of the green dress as everyone else tried to ignore Weiss’ words. None of this was them, not with Blake having escaped such peril or with Yang, Ruby, and Norah motherless at too early an age to have remembered feminine games. Every girl wanted to feel like a princess but not every princess wore a dress. Not every girl wanted to stay a princess but, rather, become the rightful queen. It was such a juxtaposition to run from class as huntresses-in-training and down to a fancy shop to flout school rules on the thin veil of excuse for dressing up for a dance. None of it felt right to begin with but now it was blindingly obvious that the night needed to wrap up.

With having accidently turned the evening into an emotional outburst rather than a pleasant frivolity, Pyrrha felt it her responsibility to change the mood. She tried hard to smile at the woman with the bright gold hair.

“Thank you for finding something special with me in mind,” Pyrrha said, finding her feet and trying not to fidget with her red hip scarf. “Before we all go, I’d like to see it.”

 

-

 

Qrow was a silent escort, unusually sullen even beyond his cynical slouch and snappish demeanor, and the streets of Vale were chilly with the remains of the long winter. Streetlights led them through the city center and, much like flowers and the sun, thin buildings stretching toward the darkened sky for even a hint of moonlight. They passed crowds gathered outside shops and clubs forbidden to students and the faces of visitors turned long and sharp in the shadows. The occasional glimpse of less savory types caught Pyrrha’s eye as she walked confidently with her classmates and she realized, her mind keeping time with the length of her strides, that Ozpin must have only agreed to such a frivolity if there was a greater benefit. The tension in the shop between her classmates was heavy on her conscious, Pyrrha wishing she had never trusted them with her own outburst. It was not the first instance she wished she could turn back time during a visit to Vale and change her actions The tavern naggled at the back of her mind and the glance she gave Qrow was returned with a half-smirk as the hunter stopped them all on the edge of the city path that lead back to Beacon.

“Ruby, take your friends home,” Qrow drawled, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tipped his chin toward the school. “Pyrrha and I are going to finish some training on our way back.”

“Can I please stay?”

Ruby couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice and her eyes danced between her beloved uncle and her classmate. Weiss and Yang exchanged looks that told the red-haired huntress this was confirming suspicions that Pyrrha was participating in more than sanctioned lessons regarding aura.

She could hardly stand the sudden tension. She was going with to look for Cinder, to join Qrow and Blake on their night hunt for the Black Fang and Cinder’s henchmen. Why not let her sneak out with Blake, then? Why not steal away in the dark after everyone else was asleep? Or leave in the early evening as she normally would to visit Ozpin’s study and head to Vale with Qrow and Blake instead? There must be a reason to involve her teammates and muddy the waters of their tentative understanding of the half-truths tossed around in the weeks since such lies became necessary.

“No, Ruby,” Qrow answered, shaking his head, gesturing again up the path to Beacon. “Go on, ice princess. Yang, make sure Ruby stays put when you get back.”

“I want to go with!”

Qrow’s sharp glare warned Ruby but the young huntress was having none of it.

“You’re always with Pyrrha and, when you’re not with her, you’re with Ozpin. I think there’s more going on than just training,” Ruby shouted, Yang and Weiss glancing around as someone glanced out the door of a nearby establishment. Pyrrha noticed Blake slinking into the shadows, darting away as everyone else was wrapped up in Ruby’s outburst. “I want to help! If you’re tracking down the Black Fang, we have a right to help! We’ve taken down the bad guys in the past, we help keep Vale safe, and you can’t keep us from-“

Qrow’s glare was cold, firm, and Pyrrha recognized the look he gave everyone else in how he just addressed his niece. Ruby’s eyes hardened as she blinked away a sudden tear, fury winning out over indignation and hurt. Sometimes it was hard to remember Ruby was younger; not by much but by the amount it took to learn certain lessons that every one of her classmates had already learned before arriving at the huntsman academy. It was a tentative balance, the number of your age and the number of experiences that counted for or against your maturity, and this was a lesson for Ruby and Yang in where their family ties couldn’t gain them their preference, even if it was for selfless reasons.

“You’re going after who hurt you,” she said, realizing that Qrow was taking Pyrrha to look out for Cinder, Blake already on the prowl. The huntress spun, looking for her dark-haired teammate as Yang called for Blake. “I want to help!”

“We’re students, Ruby,” Weiss offered into the silence between Qrow and his nieces, Yang taking Ruby’s side with flashing red eyes. “We’re supposed to be back at the school already. That was the agreement. If he’s training Pyrrha, then that isn’t our business.”

“It isn’t just training!” Ruby shouted again, Weiss gesturing for her teammate to keep her voice down.

“Then we’ll come out another day,” Weiss scolded. “You’re acting childish.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“This was stupid,” Norah muttered, kicking the dust on the side of the paved path, her normally cheery voice so sad that it cut through the bickering. “Let’s go, Weiss. Ruby and Yang can come if they want but I’m getting back to the rest of the team. I’ve had enough for one night.”

Norah’s disappointment rang through the air, Weiss huffing at Ruby and scoffing as Yang reached out to her. Weiss’ white hair shone in the streetlights and Pyrrha thought of Winter yet again, unable to separate the two sisters from one another yet again in moments like this; she felt Qrow become impatient and knew his bad turn of tone would sink to deeper depths if he was reminded any further of what he’d briefly held.

“None of you wanted to come anyway,” Weiss snapped, Yang pulling back in surprise before setting her shoulders to face off against the heiress. “This was a mistake. Go cry to your uncle to let you stay out late chasing after shadows. I’m going to bed.”

“Don’t you care what happened to Qrow?”

Ruby’s voice carried too far for Pyrrha’s patience and the red-haired huntress tried to assure her classmate, gesturing with a broad smile that felt painted on since the fiasco with the attendant outing her level of fame and wealth. It was immediately the wrong thing to do, Ruby turning to her with absolute hurt in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to think you had something to do with this,” the young huntress said, shaking her head. “I wanted to think you were just caught in something and didn’t mean for all the secrets and lies. Since that night when Uncle Qrow-“

Ruby’s voice cracked, unable to admit the words she was going to say that would ring out terms of mortality and defeat that Pyrrha had negotiated to keep the girls’ uncle on two feet instead of feet underground. Yang crossed her arms, pulling herself closer in and turning away from Pyrrha as the red-haired huntress could see the damage she caused spanned more than the distance between herself and Ruby.

“The first night he brought you back to our room,” Ruby started over again, finding her voice as Norah and Weiss paused on their way back to the school to listen as their teammate’s speech carried down the path. “That night, I thought about how sad you looked and how glad I was you had Uncle Qrow to help you. I don’t know what’s happened since but, Pyrrha, you’ve changed so much that I hardly know you when I see you sometimes. You were so righteous, always the one to remind us what was good and what was wrong, to show us all the proper way to do something. We all listened. We were astounded that Pyrrha Nikos wanted to be our friend. I don’t know if you understand anymore what it feels like to be on the outside looking in. You’re doing that to us after we tried to show you we wouldn’t do that to you.”

Qrow rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh Pyrrha didn’t expect from the grizzled hunter standing next to her. She willed herself not to cry, so tired of crying, and held out her hands to the caped huntress and her blonde sister.

“I can’t tell you,” Pyrrha practically begged. “I’ve been sent on a path and, Ruby, I can’t explain any more than I already have. Please trust me.”

“I trust you, and I love you,” Ruby said quietly, starting to turn away to join Norah and Weiss on their way up the path. “I just don’t know how much I respect you right now. Come on, Yang.”

Yang glanced around them, searching the trees and undergrowth of the nearby woods as best she could in the dark, looking for any sign of Blake. Pyrrha could feel eyes watching, knowing Blake was able to see and hear every painful second, and she bet that Yang knew, too. The concern on Yang’s face was the same concern Pyrrha felt in her heart.

Ruby and her sister followed Weiss and Norah up the dark road and back to Beacon Academy, Qrow taking a deep drink from his flask as Pyrrha held her arm to her side, watching her friends leave her behind. The crisp, cold breeze swung down from the valley and across the woods, cutting through the cracks in Pyrrha’s armor, and the huntress shed only a single tear for the distance between her and the people she loved.

“It’ll get easier,” Qrow muttered, returning his flask to a pocket and eyeing a group of men huddled in a nearby doorway. “Ruby’ll come around. They all will. When they know what you’ve been stuck with, they’ll beg your forgiveness.”

“I don’t want them to beg,” Pyrrha replied, trying to keep her sadness from getting stuck in her throat. “I want them to understand.”

 _They won’t_ , Ozpin came to her across the chasm of connection that bound their souls. _Even when they know, they might not understand._

 _I didn’t want this,_ Pyrrha answered, following Qrow back into Vale. She caught a glimpse of Blake as the dark-haired huntress flitted among the shadows to trail them.

 _No one wants the yoke of responsibility_ , Ozpin replied, his voice kind and soft in the orbit of her mind. _How you carry the weight of the world speaks louder than any misstep you might make._

_You wanted them to see this, didn’t you? To see how I’m becoming someone else? It wasn’t just about one last moment with my friends._

A heavy pause before Ozpin’s unsettling firmness confirmed for her: _No, they needed to know something is coming. They need to see now to understand later._

Pyrrha’s hip scarf swayed as she followed Qrow, head bowed in remembrance of her youthful dream of friendship beyond boundaries, and the snap of Milo into her gloved palm rang over the biting breeze. Night finally fell completely over Vale, a deep and dark vigil over the city, and Qrow’s eyes glittered garnet as he checked for Blake among the rooftops. Cinder was there, somewhere, and Pyrrha resigned herself to the task at hand, trying to dismiss the resentment of her responsibilities like leaves on the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, I don't even know what just happened. I wrote it over about a week, a very busy week of odd and unusual, and it feels as fragmented to read as it was to write. Mea culpa. Future chapters will be lovingly dramatic in the usual vein.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank goodness I don't actually edit because this whole chapter may have been scrapped. Also, thank goodness I don't have an editor/beta because they'd be ripping out their hair at how often I get bogged down in the weeds with character backstories. Everyone's just getting a little choked up thinking of their past over here. It'll matter later.

A soft and silent night wrapped around the autumn woods, leaves only just clinging to their branches as they hid their rich browns and golds under the velvety darkness, and Pyrrha sipped air sweetened by the last of the season’s wildflowers. Lush grass swayed as she slowly made her way across the valley and the huntress could see the outlines of elk standing watching over their herd, inky shades of blue and violet illuminated by the light of a foreign moon.

The nooks, craters, and ridges of the moon hanging heavy above her were the same as the moon she knew over Remnant but it couldn’t possibly be the same one she looked to for comfort and balance: it was whole, unshattered, and reflected such brilliant light upon her that she could easily see her way on the thin game trail. The wildlife around her moved comfortably near their dens and nests at the edges of the woods, spying on the strange visitor as she followed the path without questioning why; they kept an eye on the red-haired woman with the awareness she was new but without threat and they let her pass without trouble.

Pyrrha could hear her own heart beat firmly against her breast as she saw mountains loom in the distance, kept from her by the thick treeline, and she could smell fresh water nearby. The scuffling of animals told her she was being observed, perhaps guarded; she felt more than a handful of watchful eyes track her progress across the vale and was not so foolish as to ignore what could be hiding beyond the reach of moonlight.

The shape of the valley seemed familiar, the edges of the mountaintops dotted by thick starlight, and Pyrrha sensed she knew this place, even if she didn’t know exactly how. She swept the tops of tall plants with outstretched hands, feeling her footfalls more than hearing them as her senses peaked. The scent of pine needles and bark drifted on the air to mingle with the wildflowers and water to sweep across her and she reached for the thought of Ozpin as she looked up into the immense and brilliant night sky-

-and set herself gasping as she looked up into the hazy glow of Vale’s street-lit midnight.

“Whoa there, spitfire,” Qrow muttered, glancing at her as she picked herself up from where she lay on the rooftop of a building near the city center. The electric hum in the air reminded Pyrrha where she was, Vale hardly sleeping despite the needs of its inhabitants, and the huntress brushed a hand across her face as she tried to recall how she could have possibly fallen asleep while on a mission. They were on the lookout for Cinder and her henchmen, keeping watch for the Black Fang, and Pyrrha flushed as she tried to profusely apologize.

“I can’t believe I let that happen,” she started, standing to shake out her legs before Qrow reached out a hand to pull her back down, shaking his head.

“You think you fell asleep?”

“Did- Did I not?”

“Lost time again, huh?” Qrow chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head.

“I was dreaming. At least, I think I was. Everything was so vivid.”

The greying hunter shrugged, leaning his elbows on his knees as he sat at the edge of the rooftop, curled in on himself against the damp Spring air. The city’s vague luminance from so many lights below them lit Qrows face in a pale, flat cast and Pyrrha shuddered at the sight of him stalking his prey as casually as her classmates would lounge in their dormitory. Pyrrha looked for Blake, assuming she was on another rooftop, and Qrow gestured below with ringed fingers flashing.

“She’s down there,” he told her, hardly growling the words loud enough for Pyrrha to catch them. “Blake’s found herself some trouble in the past so I’m keeping the path smooth as she looks for any signs of her friends.”

“Blake’s one of the most talented huntresses at Beacon,” Pyrrha corrected, finding slight with Qrow’s assessment. “She could search without you keeping watch.”

“You’re not thinking like a hunter,” Qrow replied, impatience as clear in his tone as the gleam of his flask in his hand. “How many times have you tracked Grimm only to find you’re the one being hunted? Every time you get yourself into a tight spot, you have to learn to find your way out of it and hope you haven’t met your match in a smarter opponent. Oz puts you in teams to learn something, undoubtedly, but it’s also for your safety as you learn to make your way. Blake’s learning to make her way and I can keep an eye out for the first sign of your cousin. Everyone wins.”

Qrow drew out his last few words with as much cynicism as Pyrrha could remember hearing from the bitter hunter. His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her wandering mind as she tried to reach out to Ozpin and found nothing for her attempt; Pyrrha couldn’t assume he was sleeping because of the odd schedule and habits he kept but it was a familiar type of silence that usually meant deep slumber.

“How long was I asleep?”

Pyrrha stood again only to have Qrow pull her back down into an undignified slump next to him on the rooftop. She glared at him and noted Harbinger at his side, the weapon that inspired Crescent Rose, and she suddenly felt her stomach squeeze at the memory of the recent fight with Ruby and her team. Even Norah had turned her back and Pyrrha tried not to dwell on the betrayal as she gave Qrow time to answer her.

“You closed your eyes for a second,” he growled, shrugging again. “You were only out of it for a few minutes.”

“I had a dream, though.”

“More of that Maiden spirit nonsense?”

“No,” Pyrrha answered, settling in at Qrow’s side without argument. “I dreamed I was in a valley at night. There were animals, but no Grimm, and the moon was whole.”

The huntress didn’t catch Qrow’s startled glance as she looked across the cityscape, dangling a foot over the edge of the roof and vaguely reminiscing about all the rooftop lessons she gave Jaune their first year at Beacon. She could see Beacon Academy clearly, a vast structure just beyond the city border and lit with faint emerald and amber spots across the landscape. Students weren’t normally allowed out of bed this late but Pyrrha had watched many rulebreakers scamper across courtyards by those dim lights. The tallest tower was dark and, if Pyrrha tried hard enough, she could imagine she could see the whirling cogs overhead in the Headmaster’s office.

“What has Ozpin shared with you?”

“What do you mean?”

Qrow sighed irritably, pulling out his drink once more, and Pyrrha remembered their interrupted conversation back in Atlas so many weeks ago. She had dreaded the words from his mouth, knowing she didn’t want to hear what he had to share, and had called for Ozpin to relieve her of Qrow’s presence. Now, waiting in the dark with the recently recovered hunter, Pyrrha still wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear what came next because it would confirm her fears or bring new trepidation to attention. She wrapped an arm uneasily around herself and leaned away from Qrow, his alcohol swift to her nose and vile as he took another long pull before capping the flask.

“What do you mean?” Pyrrha repeated slowly, narrowing her eyes as she saw Qrow hesitate.

“I know all about family you’d rather not admit you’re related to,” he started, running his fingers through his salted dark hair. “I was one of only a few at Beacon who knew about my sister’s plan to corrupt the school from within. Her name is Raven, she's my twin, and even I couldn’t guess the depths to which she’d sink.”

He pulled a picture from his pocket, an old and fairly tattered print of four young hunters and huntresses gathered in the sunlight. Pyrrha thought she recognized a popular resting place on Beacon’s campus, a crooked tree just off the West courtyard that sustained multitudes of abuse, including as a napping place, a sparring blockade, and well-known picnic spot. A young woman with a white cloak smiled shyly, silver eyes shining even in the faint sepia, and a handsome blond man stood next to her, arms crossed and smiling jovially. Ruby’s parents, Pyrrha realized, recognizing Tai. Ruby had never shared a picture of her and yet Pyrrha knew immediately no one else could have been her mother.

Qrow was a mysterious and charming youth, the sort of hunter-in-training Pyrrha knew would have knocked half the huntresses and a good chunk of the hunters off their feet with even a smile, but he wasn’t smiling in this picture. His face carried a different sort of trouble, almost worry, and she couldn’t imagine the man sitting next to her had ever had fewer cares drawn across his face than he did now. He was tall but bowed, shoulders pulled into a hunch as he stood apart from a woman with a cruel face. Pyrrha was reminded of the woman in the tavern who held the enslaved man’s chains, a cold and open stance inviting challenges and contemptuousness. The smile digging at the corner of her mouth told Pyrrha this woman knew how to manipulate, to get what she wanted, and there was no doubt she was Qrow’s sister.

“She’s Yang’s mom?” Pyrrha gasped, hardly recognizing this mocking face in front of her as anyone who could have created the happy and effervescent classmate she loved so well. Yet, if she ignored the smirk and calculating glimmer in Raven’s eyes, there was a hint of a familiar jaw, a similar hairline, and even a hint of how Yang held herself in her stance before a fight. Glancing between Tai and Qrow’s twin, Pyrrha didn’t immediately see how these two people could have been more dissimilar from one another.

“Don’t underestimate the power of opposites to attract,” Qrow muttered with a rueful hint of a grin. “I don’t think Tai saw anything but stars every time he looked at her.”

“Did she love him?”

“I don’t think my sister is capable of love,” he answered slowly, and Pyrrha heard years of pain and remorse in his voice. “I think she was tolerant of Tai. He was convenient, absolutely head over heels for her, and water wears away even the hardest rock.”

“She loved him enough to have a child with him,” Pyrrha offered, not understanding why she needed to justify even a scrap of humanity for the woman in the picture. “That counts for something.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Qrow replied, remorse replaced by glowing embers of anger that caught in his eyes. “Convincing her to give Yang to Tai and not take her back to camp was the most I could have done. Nothing survives long in that tribe.”

“Tribe? You grew up in an encampment?”

“Grew up fast and mean.”

Pyrrha didn’t know how this tied back to Ozpin, didn’t know why tonight was the night Qrow decided to share his story, and still wasn’t sure if she wanted to interrupt him to keep him from telling her something she didn’t want to hear. Qrow was a contradiction of himself, alluring and delightfully funny as an instructor, fierce and visceral as a hunter, and an undoubtedly loving uncle, but Pyrrha knew he kept his painful past locked away in a similar vein to Ozpin. How many times had she watched a flicker cross Ozpin’s face when he read silently from a historical account? A twinge of melancholy or annoyance in his voice when he shared a thought related to their research?  

“I suspect Ozpin’s got his reasons, and I know better than to break my promises, and there are just some things you’ll need to hear from him to make them believable,” Qrow started, attempting to justify what Pyrrha sensed was a breach in trust. “I don’t want you making decisions based on the idea things are just good or just evil. Ruby’s got that streak of hope and I can’t break her of it. I don’t think I want to, honestly, but you’re a bit more realistic than my niece.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

Handing the picture back to Qrow, she wanted the hunter pocket it again and hesitate over his flask before tucking both away. She noted the watermarks around the frayed edges, the hint of raindrops across his former teammates before she realized salt had eaten away at the ink; Pyrrha wondered if he realized how much of his former self he mourned for, grief etched across his face.

“You need to understand something about Ozpin,” he said, caution in his voice. “He does things from a sense of justice, maintaining a proper balance in anyone and everything he meets, and you don’t understand how much you want to oblige him until you’ve already followed through. When he looks at you, you know your faults and strengths because he knows them. You’re brought into the world with everything you have to give, the wrong and the right, and Oz knows what you’ve been trying to hide. He’s both the best and worst judge of character I’ve ever met.”

Pyrrha knew exactly what Qrow meant. There were overtones of mentorship, hints of warning, and a sense of humor that took everyone by surprise whenever Professor Ozpin spoke. He was practically revered by fellow students, Pyrrha herself still finding him a formidable presence even after what they’d seen and done together, and he was both parts famous and infamous for his kindness and intelligence. When her professors spoke of leadership, they followed with Ozpin’s examples as Headmaster of Beacon Academy. There was always a story of Ozpin’s graciousness, forgiveness, or creative quasi-punishments for repeat offenders of school rules. Even at Mistral, when she determined she would attend Beacon after graduation rather than accepting the offer Haven Academy had extended to her, her teachers shared how she’d thrive with such instruction as Headmaster Ozpin had gathered to teach the future hunters and huntresses of Remnant.

There was a dark hint to his legend, though, and Pyrrha herself was still vulnerable to believing the stories she heard. Rumors bantered occasionally of the time someone’s brother’s neighbor’s best friend had watched Ozpin save a group of students from an entire herd of formidable Ursa, or someone’s sister had a friend who worked with a woman in a tavern who had shared hints of drunken stories relating to Ozpin’s heroic salvaging of a village from a Nevermore. There were fun games among classmates about their instructors but Ozpin was always exempt, a sense of untouchable awe preventing even the boldest student from parodying the feared and admired Headmaster of Beacon Academy. Pyrrha heard the same reverence from Qrow as he talked but she quickly realized how deep Qrow’s affection and disgust for Ozpin ran as the hunter continued.

“My sister and I were the children of a tribe leader who accepted anyone brutal enough to keep up with him. We raided villages for supplies, shuffling unwilling servants to the highest bidder, picking up the odd bit of mercenary work if it suited us. Our camp moved every other season and we posted lookouts to keep the Branwen Tribe as hidden as could be. Our father’s legacy of cruelty wasn’t enough to stay satisfied and Raven was as drawn to the bloodlust of battle as I was. We hacked and sliced our way through enough opponents that our own cohorts wouldn’t have much to do with us for fear of some little slight setting us off on them. We weren’t so unlike the Black Fang.”

Blake’s haunting story, shared while Qrow’s blood stained towels feet away from their chairs by the fireplace, rushed back to Pyrrha and she realized the connection between Qrow and Blake went far deeper than convenient assistance. Blake was so close to the path he himself had walked on, drifting along as lost as he must have been, and Pyrrha clasped a gloved palm over her mouth as she thought how lucky they were to have found each other. Here was someone who truly understood what it was like to justify the wrongs they saw and did in order to survive - how much did Blake know she wasn't alone?

“Blake isn’t my redemption and I'm not hers,” Qrow argued, frowning at her as Pyrrha’s reaction grated on his nerves. “I see what could happen if she stays bent on her former friends and I’m showing her there is more than revenge out in this cruddy world. Tying up loose ends for the greater good doesn’t take as many years off your life as it does seeking retribution for personal failures. I think of the murders, trafficking, mutilations done in the name I carry and it sure as hell makes it easier to bear when I can steer others from the path. Your sad little friend needs to figure out what her future is from here because, when you live for the kill, there isn’t much left to live for after the blood has drained.”

“You’re kind to take her, well, under your wing,” Pyrrha couldn’t help herself, seeing Qrow was losing his resolve to continue his tale.

“She’s a good kid, which is more than you could say about Raven and the rest of our tribe. We were enlisted to help corrupt the hunters and huntresses of Remnant, a dark visitor who came to us by possessing those we kept locked away in camp until they were bought or served a purpose. Those were some long nights as we figured out what was happening. Dozens of voices repeating the same thing, not one of them knowing what they were doing, and Raven stuck her blade through most of them before we stopped her. Not out of pity, you see, but because we had potential buyers for our cargo.”

“Who was it, speaking through those poor people?”

“We didn’t know. The message was to destroy the hunters and be rewarded. If we could corrupt the forces that slaughtered Grimm, we would be spared. It went on for days, brand new slaves tossed in with the others and begging to be freed before the spirit came to them, too. We had deserters but not for long. No one leaves the tribe and lives. I've been the only one to leave and tell about it.”

Ignoring as much as she could her revulsion at the revelation Qrow once dealt in trafficking and murder as a business, Pyrrha frowned as she heard the messages in what Qrow didn’t say. If he was no longer part of the tribe, he was either not worth the time to track or would be too hard to kill; under Ozpin’s eye, would someone be brave enough to take on the son of the tribe leader? 

“Raven and I came up with a plan to appease the spirit,” the hunter continued, keeping watch on the streets below while Pyrrha studied his features in the waxy light. “We were old enough to apply for enrollment at any huntsmen academy, skilled enough fighters and clever enough to pass any exam but not so unknown that we could attend anywhere. It had to be far enough from our usual hideouts, distant enough from the villages we pillaged, that we could reinvent ourselves. I wanted Shade but Raven set her sights on Beacon.

I thought Vacuo would be a good start, a rougher and more lenient academy to start our mission of corruption, and it would have provided more opportunities for escape if something went wrong. But not Raven. She didn’t want an easy way in or out, ever. If we were going to do the bidding of a spirit that possessed our encampment until we were near crazed with fear, Raven wasn’t going to give it a casual chance at success. The crown jewel of the huntsmen academies, Beacon, was the target. We fought about it but Raven won more often than not in those days. I was the clear successor to our father but Raven was the most bloodthirsty out of the two of us and she bloodied me good that night. It was the night the spirit left us, the first night in weeks we were able to sleep without the chants and shouts from the pens in the compound, and we took it as a sign that Raven was right. We set out for Beacon with the goal to take down the Academy from the inside out.

The first time we met Ozpin, he looked right through me and down to my soul. I swear to this day, he knew the moment he saw me that I wasn’t there to be a student. He maintains he didn’t know, not until much later when I knew we would fail in our task, but he looked at me and saw every dark thing I had ever done. I trembled. Raven scoffed. She immediately said she thought he was a tottering old fool who wouldn’t have let us live if he knew what we were up to. Our first day, we kept to ourselves and scared everyone around us except Summer and Tai. We eventually became Team STRQ and Raven was furious she wasn’t declared the leader. She was used to being obeyed out of fear or outwitting the members of the tribe who disagreed with her – she had no ammunition against a young woman like Summer.

Summer’s strength was in her kindness. Her capacity for forgiveness was unlike anyone I had ever met. She would smile and the whole world lit up around her. No one could resist her patience and support. Everyone was her friend and she made everyone feel special, like she had spent the whole day waiting for you to say anything to her and it was exactly what she’d hope you’d say so you never felt wrong. Raven hated her and was so brutal to Summer in training that we were called out constantly. Tai would defend her but was so smitten with Raven that he couldn't do much against her. 

I knew how to place a calculated strike that wouldn’t look impressive but leave my opponent limping for days. Raven just hit as hard as she could and wouldn’t let up until she was penalized. It wasn’t until she hurt a classmate so badly he had to leave school that she backed down under watchful eyes. Summer was a skilled enough fighter but her greatest skill was compassion. She was made our team leader because of her humanity, something my sister and I lacked, and, by the end of our first semester, I realized why Ozpin paired her with us. Summer was so soft and sweet that you couldn’t help but smile. Smiling wasn’t something I was used to. Friendship was never something I had experienced. To laugh a genuine laugh without it being at someone’s expense was such a new idea that I remember crying without knowing why. By the end of our first year at Beacon, I was in love.”

Pyrrha’s gasp was audible and she threw her hand over her mouth again to keep from saying anything. Qrow rolled his eyes at her but, as he did so, she noticed how bloodshot they were with emotion. He shrugged and continued his story as Pyrrha kept from interrupting as best she could.

“She wasn’t in love with me, though. I didn’t show her how I felt and for good reason – Raven would have taken care of Summer if she had known for certain, I’m sure of it – and I watched as she slowly smiled more warmly at Tai. Raven guessed at my distraction, though, and refused to let me out of her sight. We were still spreading discord, planting seeds of doubt in the hearts of our classmates, and learning the systems in place at Beacon to better strategize against the hunters and huntresses. The spirit hadn’t come back to camp and we took that as a sign that we were doing what it wanted us to do. With Summer and Tai dallying more and more often on their own, Raven and I would scout the school and look for secret entrances and security flaws. We were determined to learn as much as we could about Beacon in hopes we could do more than subvert the school’s teachings.

We’d collect students into our own group and it was easy enough to appeal to them. We’d look for students from families who were politically misaligned in their respective kingdoms, those who were on the wrong side of the Great War and grew up hearing about the numerous invisible slights against them, and we’d convince them they were right. They weren’t doing themselves or their families a service by seeking a noble profession led by hypocrisy and built on lies. Instead of becoming hunters or huntresses, they could use the skills they learned at Beacon and go out to create their own alliances with those who had the right idea. Why fight Grimm when Ozpin’s message of unity was the enemy?

It took time but enough students had demonstrated apathy and rebellion that Ozpin started to watch us. Glinda Goodwitch was just a few years older than Raven and I and she’d tip him off when she’d see us in the library with a group of known troublemakers or out in Vale with students who had been expelled. Up until the day she died, I wanted to wring her neck and thank her for what she did. I still believe, had Ozpin himself not been the headmaster, we would have had the school in a full on riot. We would have succeeded in eroding away tentative peace between faunus students and those classmates whose families who, if they had their way, would see the faunus relegated to second-class citizens or worse. I honestly think we would have convinced enough of our classmates to rebel against the idea of forgiveness to have pleased the spirit that told us to destroy the future of huntsmen on Remnant. At Shade or even Haven, we could have caused such total disruption that, even after expelling us, our discord would have lasted. As it was, we had turned enough of our classmates from the profession that our class size was diminished well beyond the normal amount of drop-outs and second-guessers.

Ozpin gave us a choice. We could stay at Beacon and work to amend our wrongs or he would do far more than expel us. He held our tribe as hostages, warning us a misstep would cost us the only family we had. We were thieves and murderers but these were our people, the men and women we grew up with and were raised by. We ate together, fought together, and we did love each other in a certain twisted way. This was the life we knew. Raven challenged Ozpin and he had her by the throat within seconds. I was smarter than to leap to her defense. I accepted his offer to make right what we had damaged. My sister never forgave me for siding with him.

What you need to take away from this, spitfire, is that few things get by Oz. He knows. Some might think they’ve crossed him and gotten away with it but Ozpin knows which battles to pick. He’s been around a long time. Longer than he’s let on. You don’t do what he does and know what he knows to argue with anyone who thinks they’ve got the experience to challenge you. You teach, you forgive, you punish, you keep the world moving. That’s what the Maidens do for Ozpin and what Ozpin does for Remnant.”

Pyrrha’s arms prickled and her ears rang with the tension screaming through her muscles as she curled in on herself, hearing the information without the promise of retention. Like water through clenched fingers, Qrow’s words seeped around her and left her wrung. She knew he wasn’t an excessively kind man with a solid moral past but she hadn’t expected just a scratch in the surface of the history Qrow was atoning for would leave her cringing from him. She hadn’t expected Yang’s mother to be a cold-blooded murderess or Ruby’s beloved uncle to have sought to undermine the Grimm hunters who brought safety and peace to tormented areas of Remnant. To hear Ozpin was the headmaster when Qrow was a first-year student gave Pyrrha the largest hint she had so far as to how old he was but it was hardly a concern for the fact this whole conversation began after she woke from a sleep she didn’t remember falling into. The starlit vale was still strangely familiar and Pyrrha desperately wanted to go back to Beacon to sort out her thoughts but she wanted to take advantage of Qrow while she had him sharing so much.

“How long has Ozpin been-“

“That’s not up to me to tell you that,” Qrow answered, the picture of his teammates back in his hand as took a long look at what set into motion the rest of his life. “I shared more than I should.”

“You said the Maidens-“

“We need to check on your friend.”

Qrow stood from his spot on the ledge, tucking his photo away and taking a deep draw off the ever present flask before turning from Pyrrha. With the roll of his shoulders, she lost the chink in his armor that allowed her more insight than she had hoped to have into his past but knew the opportunity to ask about Ozpin was over. He had given her a clue, though, a hint of something to do with the Maidens rather than the same fairy tales, legends, and myths she had poured over in Ozpin’s private study. Left with a tangible piece of information, she forgave herself for the momentary frustration with Qrow as the hunter pulled himself together. It had obviously been a challenge to betray Ozpin’s trust as to share even a hint of a past that wasn’t his to divulge and Qrow’s own life wasn’t a bedtime story.

“What happened to Ruby’s mother?”

She knew by instinct that Qrow would answer the question but she’d lose his respect for having asked. Her curiosity got the better of her and she stood to face him as Qrow struggled with how exactly to reply. Pyrrha knew it was nearly heartless of her to ask for so much, to place Qrow in a position where he either kept his first love hidden in the darkness of his past and safe from prying minds or share Summer and her secrets and lose a little bit of the magic that made her evergreen in his heart.

“Those silver eyes,” he simply said, his voice distant and melancholy before both hunter and huntress heard a commotion in the streets below. Running to the edge, Qrow looked down with Pyrrha to see Blake running from a dozen men, their shouts ringing through the crisp evening air as she fired her weapon behind her.

 

-

 

“You were no help whatsoever,” Blake snapped at the cackling crow wheeling overhead, the dark-haired huntress glaring viciously and threatening to smack him out of the sky as he swooped at her in response.

Vale Sheriffs had come running to collect the unconscious members of the White Fang terrorist group as Blake and Pyrrha found themselves exhausted, filthy, and thoroughly annoyed with their instructor as Qrow hung back from the fight. He disappeared entirely, flying low through alleyways and across rooftops, while Pyrrha flipped a woman to the cobblestones and Blake swung a man twice her size into a lightpost. Both were coming at them with blades and Pyrrha, even though this was an opponent who cared nothing for her wellbeing, felt a little bad about throwing the Black Fang member into the ground so hard.

“Adam’s got a message for you, Blake,” one of the men spat, his mask threatening to slip off his face as he battled the dark-haired huntress. Pyrrha, taking out two men with separate kicks and a well-placed bash with her shield, heard Blake cry out in fury and the crunch of bone as her opponent found himself unable to speak. Her friend’s voice trembled when she assured Pyrrha she was okay but the red-headed huntress knew better; Blake’s hands were shaking ever so slightly and she demanded the Sheriffs to take them all away immediately rather than risk one of them waking and running off to report back. A few early risers peeked their heads through their windows to watch the fight and a kind older woman who owned a nearby tea shop brought both huntresses steaming cups, waving Pyrrha off as she tried to thank the shop owner.

“You even spared my window,” the lady crooned, Pyrrha flinching guiltily as she saw the shop next door whose big plate glass window she had thrown a young man through at the beginning of the fight. That shop owner would not be so pleased when they arrived to open in a few short hours. “What chaos so early in the morning!”

“I told you, they’re Black Fang,” Blake shouted at the Sherriff who was less inclined to believe that members of the White Fang would randomly attack two huntresses early enough in the day that even the tea and coffee shops weren’t ready for customers.

“Aren’t you supposed to be up at the school?” the Sheriff asked, suspicious as Blake crossed her arms and huffed, emulating her heiress teammate with such precision that Pyrrha’s stomach clenched thinking of her friends. They were probably still sound asleep – would they worry when they woke to notice Pyrrha and Blake weren’t in their own beds? Her own teammates would likely assume she was sleeping in a practice room, as she so often told them, but she knew they knew she was lying, giving her all the more reason to feel unhappy as she stood next to a stack of cuffed and unconscious Black Fang members.

“We’re out on assignment,” Blake offered unconvincingly, both huntresses noticing Qrow was still nowhere in sight and their story was a lot less plausible without an instructor. “We were tracking members of the Black Fang to find out where they were meeting. I found a group of them as they snuck into Vale and followed them to a warehouse near Mountain Glenn.”

“Well, looks like you found trouble, that’s what,” the Sheriff chuckled, Blake unamused. “Just a few White Fang trash out too late for their own good, that’s what this looks like. I bet they just came from the bar and you misunderstood their intentions. You girls shouldn’t be out this late anyway.”

Blake’s ears flattened under her bow and Pyrrha rankled at the demeaning attitude from the Sheriff as his fellow Sheriffs started to carry the unconscious bodies into a short wagon with thick metal doors. Without a word, knowing anything more would be wasted on the incompetent badged man not even pretending to take notes, Pyrrha handed Blake her tea and steered her friend toward the nearest path toward Beacon. Qrow caught up with them as they left the city and were back on the familiar stone trail up to the school, the sun starting to creep over the horizon in a grey dawn all too familiar to the two huntresses.

“I could use a full night’s sleep after a long shower,” Pyrrha said, rolling her shoulders as she tried to engage Blake in conversation that didn’t involve shouting at the bird overhead. “Is today a class day?”

“No, we’re off today,” was the most Blake said, casting dirty looks toward Qrow’s direction as he continued up to Beacon’s main entrance and landed on one of the posts displaying a bold red Vytal Festival banner.

“Do you think Norah and the others will still be angry?”

“That’s not something I’d be worried about right now,” Blake answered, her tone flat and distracted. “I saw Cinder’s green-haired henchman in that Black Fang meeting. I didn’t get a better look at her than just a few moments but it looked like she was talking with a blue-haired man. I made it into the meeting alright – it was when I tried to leave that a group of them tracked me. Where were you and Qrow?”

“Getting in touch with our feelings,” Qrow sneered, rolling off the post and hitting the ground as a fully-formed hunter with day-old stubble and rumpled clothes. “We didn’t expect you to get caught.”

“They followed me out!”

Blake’s hand clenched around her tea and the paper cup began to crumple, Pyrrha rescuing it from her friend’s overzealous grip as she came nearly nose to nose with Qrow. The red-haired huntress knew Qrow was looking for a fight and enjoyed baiting anyone who’d face off against him, a very tired and angry huntress-in-training the perfect opponent in the pre-dawn light.

“You weren’t supposed to go in,” Qrow countered, gesturing down at the city waking up in the valley below the school. “If you listened to me for once in your nine lives, you’d know the plan was for you to look for Cinder and keep away from the Black Fang.”

“Cinder will be with the Black Fang!”

“No, her cronies are with the Black Fang. Did you think I was out to get some fresh air while you were knocking those idiots out? No, I was out doing the job I gave you and tracking for her. Cinder is out there doing something even worse than attending a little hateful meeting in the middle of the night-“

“Now, now,” Ozpin’s voice met Pyrrha’s ears and she dropped both cups of tea in surprise as the Headmaster casually made his way across the paved entry to where Blake and Qrow seemed inches away from blows. Blake’s golden eyes narrowed as Qrow winked at her, tossing aside his frustrations with Blake’s inability to take direction at the opportunity to leave the huntresses with Ozpin. He leapt into a flurry of feathers and soared to a nearby perch, taunting them all with a caw.

“Professor, I can explain-“

“Ms. Belladonna, I trust you’ll keep a closer ear on your instructions when Qrow, however much we all would like to ignore him when he speaks, gives you direction out in the field.”

Ozpin’s admonishment was enough to cause Blake to lower her gaze but her fists didn’t unclench as she accepted her rebuke without giving in. Pyrrha, scrambling to pick up the paper cups and throw them into a nearby bin, flushed as Ozpin turned his gaze to her before dismissing Blake.

“Your teammates undoubtedly have a few words to share with you, as well,” he told the dark-haired huntress, placing a hand on her shoulder. Pyrrha could see Blake wishing she could shrug off the kindness and stay fueled by fury the rest of the morning but she nodded silently to Ozpin and shot one last glare at Qrow as he continued a familiar cackle through a crooked beak.

“Sir, I don’t know where to begin,” Pyrrha said, finding comfort in formality as Ozpin settled his cane between them and slumped his shoulders. As he watched her through his silver fringe, she felt him assess her and she wanted something more to say but her words were stuck somewhere between her throat and her teeth. From the ridiculousness of dress shopping to the shock of Qrow’s sad tale, to taking down members of the Black Fang in the middle of Vale in the middle of the night, to yet again being awake at a time when it seemed everyone else in Remnant was rightfully and soundly asleep, Pyrrha truly didn’t know what she should unleash first.

“You walked across a valley, under a moonlit sky,” Ozpin said, placing a hand on her shoulder, fingers stretching along her neck to rest just below her jaw. His touch melted her and she took a calming breath, finding another reserve of strength when all she wanted to do was go hug her team and then collapse into soft sheets. “Do you remember a morning when I became aware you were awake when you were aware you were no longer dreaming?”

Pyrrha nodded, unsure how much Qrow could hear from his distant perch where he preened fitfully at his wings. She would remember that morning as the one where she encountered the Maiden-spirit trapped in the cane that sang between them even now, as well as the day she resolved to sort out her fears and test them against her desires. It was the first time she had imagined Ozpin’s hands running through her hair and the morning when she realized how beautifully the sun shone through the windows of the grand and lush bedroom she would soon think of as her own. As she looked into his amber eyes, silver locks falling across dark eyebrows to fringe across the gaze she was becoming so familiar with, Pyrrha realized the answer only he could give.

“I was in your dream,” she said, mulling the idea across her tongue like tasting a new flavor. “I must have shut my eyes just for a second, thinking of you, and then I was there.”

Ozpin smiled and Pyrrha felt a wave of understanding nearly knock her off her feet as she tried not to stagger.

“I closed my eyes for mere moments, admittedly thinking of you, and found myself in your dream,” he whispered, his fingertips tracing her jawline under her ear. “I didn’t know it for what it was then, believing it to be simply a trying on of an idea I had proposed just hours before, but I knew when you startled awake because I, too, found myself conflicted with very little idea of how I had come to doze off to begin with. Last night, I dreamed of a place I haven’t been to since I was young, a place not so dissimilar from your childhood forest. I saw you across the valley, wandering under the light of the moon-“

For the first time, Pyrrha heard his voice catch and she stared at him in shock as he pulled himself together so quickly she wondered if she had imagined his emotion. Confused and not altogether certain of anything at the moment, the huntress sought his eyes with her own, leaning in as she asked, “Where were we? Ozpin, the moon was whole. The sky had stars I’ve never seen before but something was so similar… it was as though I’d been there before. How could that be?”

Without a word, Ozpin’s hand slid from her neck to her shoulder, guiding her to turn and face Mountain Glenn. There, outlined in the haze of morning, were the mountains guarding the valley that contained the failed addition to the City of Vale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so pro-QrowxSummer=Ruby's real parentage but realized Tai deserves so much more than that.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short. There definitely could have been more but I'm aware of my own verbosity.

The hot water cured what ailed her aching muscles, steam massaging her racing thoughts until they slowed enough for Pyrrha to take a deep enough breath that the world felt more solid around her. She let her aura slip across the various cuts and bruises sustained from launching herself off the rooftop in Vale and tackling the Black Fang member who was inches away from gripping Blake’s arm, slights against her skin healing without a trace from where she wasn’t quick enough to dodge a whip wielded by the woman she ended up swinging into the ground, and she carefully picked bits of glass from her hair.

Pyrrha intended to go back to her dormitory and look for her team but Ozpin asked if she would join him for breakfast and she recognized the invitation as far more than an opportunity to fill her growling stomach. Silently, she followed and mentally ran through the inventory of spare clothes she kept folded in the wardrobe in her claimed guest room. The sun rose over Beacon Academy as Ozpin opened the door for her, promising a warm meal when she emerged from refreshing herself after her fight in Vale. He would accept no apology, simply stating Qrow was fulfilling his role in damage control after so many students before her had done far worse to the sleepy city, and Pyrrha was acutely aware of his presence in the other room as she washed away evidence of her busy morning.

She hesitated only a moment before tying the sash of her bathrobe tight and, wiping a hand across the foggy bathroom mirror, checked that the scrape across her cheek from the fist that hit her truly healed over. She had hit the aggressor hard enough that he was unconscious before he met the ground but the fact she had been punched before she had even had a bite to eat for the day was enough of an insult without a mark to prove it. Fellow students were one thing but someone actively attacking her was another and Qrow’s reminder to never fail to land a hit had assured her she wasn’t necessarily in the wrong by throwing a particularly obstinate adversary directly into a wall.

As she opened the door and walked out into the sunny room, she smelled the coffee and rich, hearty breakfast before she even noticed Ozpin standing next to the tall window nearest the fireplace. He browsed a worn leather-bound book, thin and flat in his hands while his cane leaned against the mantle, and a low and inoffensive fire crackled away to ward off the last of the overnight chill. Pyrrha admired his tall form, the light haloing his silver hair and outlining the slope of his shoulders and the curve of his back. The scars along his hands were pale, almost hidden in the brilliant sunshine, and she shivered to realize one of the most powerful hunters in Remnant was reading while waiting for her to join him for breakfast. The simplicity of it, the sheer domestic perspective she thought she’d never share with someone who could understand her so well, brought a surge of happiness to her heart. Her smile lit across her face and, as Ozpin turned to greet her, she saw the softness in his eyes when they saw her.

“Good morning, carah,” he said, gesturing to a chair by the fireplace and closing the book with a faint whisper of paper. Pyrrha, now acutely aware she was wearing only a bathrobe and cursing herself for her brazen dare, accepted his invitation to sit across from him and carefully picked up the lovely porcelain plate laden with food, hoping she wouldn’t do anything as clumsy as drop her fork or forget her manners. Ozpin’s immaculate dark trousers and rich velvet jacket were a contrast against the cheery morning sun and the silver threads glimmered so merrily against his deep forest-green shirt that Pyrrha couldn’t help but smile wider; he would always be the sharp and imposing figure that cut through a crowd but she wished this had been another opportunity to see him in his own bathrobe, clutching a hot chocolate.

“I am sorry for the rather underhanded way of alerting your classmates that you are burdened by responsibilities they couldn’t possibly shoulder, no matter how well-intentioned,” Ozpin shared as they casually dined together. “I believe they were holding out hope that you would share enough with them that they could alleviate your stresses. Thank you for the continued secrecy - it can’t be easy.”

“No, it’s not easy at all,” Pyrrha admitted, “You were insistent I remember the sacrifices made before I came to know the secrets of the Maidens. On days when I feel close to shouting it to any one of them who’d listen closest, I remember people have died for knowing what they shouldn’t. With Cinder out there, I can’t forget the danger I’d put them in.”

“I sometimes underestimate the power of friendship to facilitate patience and forgiveness,” Ozpin said, humility preceding a familiar scholarly tone. “However, we can’t always compound compassion in anticipation of knowledge that should not be ours to know.”

Pyrrha felt uneasy, aware of the oath-breaking honesty Qrow shared with her just hours ago, and Ozpin’s knowing glance at her over his coffee told her he knew the dusty old crow had told her too much. She frowned through her poise, wrestling with the confidence that felt foolhardy in the moment but sustained her through far harder decisions than to ask Ozpin the questions that itched at the back of her mind.

“What we share with others can be cathartic,” Pyrrha observed after finishing a mouthful of pancakes so delicious she knew Norah would be drooling at first sight. “What others chose to share can lead us to answers in places we weren’t looking before. Qrow told me about his sister and how they came to Beacon Academy. I didn’t know Yang’s mother was so vicious.”

“Raven is a woman who cannot fathom the depths of her passions. When she sets her heart on something, you can guarantee she will guard it with all of her power. Only her brother has been able to convince her to consider alternative paths. Did you not assume Qrow came from what some would call an unfortunate childhood?”

“Some might consider being orphaned an unfortunate childhood,” Pyrrha countered. “I can remember my parents but I was too young to understand why they weren’t coming home. It didn’t seem real. For weeks, I thought they’d come back and Aunt May would have been lying to me after all. Yang shared with me last year, one of the nights we all bunked together in Ruby’s room, that she felt the same even though she knew her mother was still alive. She didn’t understand why Raven left her and wasn’t coming back, told her father he was a liar and she would find out how wrong he was when her mother walked back in one day. It took a long time for her, too, to realize it wasn’t true. I couldn’t imagine a woman who would voluntarily leave her child before then. My mother loved me and I knew that if I knew nothing else. To see how kind and caring Yang is, despite knowing her mother didn’t love her enough to stay in her life, tells me what I need to know about what kind of person it takes to overcome an unfortunate childhood.”

“We can’t judge Raven too harshly,” Ozpin said, his tone dark despite the smile that encouraged Pyrrha to continue their conversation. “There are conditions and circumstances that pull us away from those we love most, things we never saw coming and things we must do to protect those we’d rather not be parted from. Besides, as Ms. Xiao Long may find that feeling loved and being loved are not one and the same.”

Unsettled, Pyrrha mulled over what Ozpin was alluding to, filing away a thought for later contemplation. She didn’t see the way Ozpin continued to smile at her over his mug, the way the light caught in her shimmering red hair, or how he noticed she tucked her toes into the chair cushion to keep them warm. A flash of bare leg was completely accidental but she didn’t realize Ozpin noticed how her hand went to her ankle, a thumb stroking along the side of her foot in a way that betrayed her thoughts as they strayed to a memory he had played over many times in his own quiet moments.

“Do you ever dream of your forest river?” Ozpin asked as he placed his empty plate on the low table near his chair, watching Pyrrha as she did the same and blanketed her feet with the hem of her bathrobe.

“Of course.”

“Does it always manifest the same as how you see it in meditation?”

“Usually,” she answered thoughtfully. “Sometimes there are differences, odd bits and pieces that come from dreams being dreams.”

“And you’re familiar with the cycles of our moon?”

“Of course,” Pyrrha repeated, glancing at Ozpin incredulously before realizing her first conversation with the Headmaster had started in a similar vein. “At certain phases, we see the moon from a nearly complete perspective, a few pieces missing here and there but relatively whole. At other times, we see the crescent.”

“What do you remember learning of how our moon came to be damaged as it is?”

“No one scientist can agree,” she said, sipping from her own mug. “We were taught the main theories, though. One was that an ancient Dust explosion had damaged the moon and changed life on Remnant for the ancient tribes who don’t have descriptions of a shattered moon in their cultural glyphs. Another is some celestial force slammed into the moon and fell to Remnant in pieces, those pieces now known as Dust and what we mine for our use. There were others but they were fairly ridiculous and we didn’t spend classtime on them.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see the moon in our dream as the cycle that hides the broken side best?”

“Absolutely,” she said, adamant as she watched Ozpin for any tells that would share where his thoughts were. “Even in the full cycle, there are still parts missing from one side. This moon in the dream was the brightest I had ever experienced and was completely round. There was no mistaking it for something other than the moon we normally see but nearly all of it was the same, too. Do you think I dreamed the difference?”

“I think we would be wise to remember dreams are not necessarily accurate historical accounts,” Ozpin answered, watching her shift again in her chair to place her feet near the low fire. She felt a flame jump through her when Ozpin stood and offered her a hand, his mug gripped lightly in the other as he looked down at her. Pyrrha silently placed her hand in his and willed her heart to stop crying for escape through her ribs as she wondered at him. Her feet protested the cold stone floor, the woven rugs a reprieve against her icy toes, and the light gleaming off her spear and shield danced across her as Ozpin led her to the plush bed. Wordlessly, he placed his mug on the bedside stand and pulled back the sheets and coverlet to reveal the soft down Pyrrha had so desperately wished to sink into on her way back from Vale. She reached to Ozpin across their connection to check his intentions, waiting for the similar rush of blood or pounding heart, and instead felt his amusement as he teased her.

“A story, perhaps, while you warm your weary feet,” Ozpin said lightly, leaving Pyrrha standing by the bed as he crossed to the other side and slipped off his shoes. Leaning back against the multitude of thick pillows without disturbing the sheets, he gestured to her and she allowed herself a similar sense of humor as she crawled into the bed and nestled under the blankets against him. How many times had she secretly wished for this? The comfort of not just anyone but Ozpin himself, there when she needed to rest her head and put down all her armor without fear, standing guard for her when the world didn’t make sense? He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as she fit her head in the hollow of his shoulder, feeling the other’s heartbeats and steady breathing as each relished the moment for the tentative normalcy it held. Pyrrha listened close, feeling the vibration of his smooth voice and letting it lull her as the sunlight warmed her hand where it rested across his breast.

“Another fairytale, I’m afraid,” he intoned, his fingers tracing a pattern across the cloth of her robe.

“I don’t have to tell it this time, do I?”

They chuckled, Pyrrha closing her eyes and sighing for the weight that had been put on them both with the last story they shared. The mahogany wolves and carved fieldmice darted through her memory as she thought of her first visit to Ozpin’s study, her skin warming at the recollection of her last visit. His hand slipped across her cheek, fingers caressing her skin, and she relaxed against him as he began his story.

“There were once two siblings, a brother and a sister, who were as opposite each other as night and day. One of them was drawn to all things considered good and right in the world and he tended animals, planted trees, and was gentle in his manners. The other was ambitious to create new life and yet found it easier to distort the animals into warped caricatures of their former selves, preferred to pervert the seeds planted in the ground by her brother rather than planting her own, and allowed her ambition to rule her interactions. They wandered together, never living in one place for very long, and their arrival would always bring great joy and great sorrow in equal measures to every village.

The brother would cure illness, teach woodlore and uses for plants in healing; he had grown most of the wilderness and was assured of their potency because he tended the original seeds themselves. He would tell fantastic tales by firelight and inspire heroism and compassion in the youth who gathered around him. There were marriages, children delivered healthy to their mothers, sons returning safely to their fathers from the hunt. His arrival was celebrated and he enjoyed the hospitality of his hosts, sharing as many gifts as he received.

The sister was quick to take, hovering ever on the outskirts of the villages and refusing to dine with or even talk to most villagers, stealing whatever she wanted. She’d replace plants intended for medicine with similar but poisonous varieties, uproot the tender shoots of newly established trees, and invited vermin to chew at crops. She lured men and women away from their fires, spoke horrible secrets into their ears, turning them mad with what their minds could not fathom. There were fights, assaults, stillbirths, and mysterious and unanticipated deaths. She was shunned from the villages as she hoarded whatever she gained.

The two tried to reconcile, each sibling convincing the other to occasionally compromise in their worldviews that could sustain rather than destroy, but the gods had decided they couldn’t allow the subversion of their creations any longer. They gave the brother a dagger with which to stab his sister through her dark heart. Ashamed of the request made of him, too wrapped in his determination to salvage what good he saw in her rather than destroy her entirely, he tried to hide the dagger deep in a cave where no one would ever find it.

He discovered Dust, immense deposits of rock that glittered by the light of his torch and threw rainbows of light back at him. So excited he was to share this discovery with his sister that he grabbed armfuls of Dust, bringing rock of every color to the surface and leaving the dagger behind. Together, they discovered the various capabilities Dust had to offer, uniting for the first time and sharing his find with the villagers. For a little while, it seemed as though brother and sister were no longer adversaries and their joint magic was an acceptable balance to both them and the gods.

The brother carried enough Dust for himself, his sister, and more than enough to share with others in their travels, but the sister desired more. She snuck away to the cave and, in gathering more Dust than she could ever use, found the dagger. She recognized it was not made by any mortal and it warned her, betraying the brother. She brought both Dust and dagger back from the caves and bid her time to confront him until an especially dark, cold night. He tried to explain his reluctance to follow through with the orders given by the gods themselves, told her he had hidden the dagger rather than consider using it on her as commanded, and his attempt to hide the weapon had brought them an unexpected gift in the discovery of Dust, but she was not to be appeased.

Their bitter battle lasted days, decimating entire portions of the world they had stewarded together for the gods, and the brother began to realize he had made a mistake in blinding himself to his sister’s irredeemable desire for destruction. He attempted to wrest the dagger from her, intending to stab through her twisted heart, but he missed as she leveled entire villages with Dust in order to distract him from his strike. The force was so powerful that the earth shifted and the moon above cracked, pieces shattering away and knocking stars from the sky.

His attempt at murdering his sister did not succeed but he did wound her, hurting her badly enough that she fled so far into the Evernight even he couldn’t find her. She took many of her distorted creatures with her, known by the villagers as The Grimm, but left just enough that they overran and destroyed survivors. Drawn by fear, greed, and rage, they fed on whomever they could find, and the brother was determined to teach the remaining villagers how to defend themselves before hiding himself in shame from the broken world. He saw the moon as the ultimate reminder of his failures and he kept his magic from what ruins of the globe remained in the aftermath of that immense battle. The gods determined he wouldn’t rest until he found his sister and fulfilled their request of him – they took most of his magic and made him immortal, cursed to live until he succeeds in murdering his sister as her punishment for the evils she wrecked upon the world. In doing this, they punished him for his part in destroying what he had so carefully created and nurtured by the will of the gods.”

Pyrrha held him close, enthralled by his tale but also terribly troubled, the sunlight hardly enough to warn away the ill feeling threatening to creep into her bones. She felt him breathe, the tension releasing from his muscles as his fingers gripped her arm tightly as though to confirm she was actually next to him and not just a dream. One arm tucked tight against his side, the huntress found his jaw with a tentative hand, pulling him to rest against the top of her head. She felt him take off his glasses and place them on the bed, burying his face in her hair and breathing deep as she held him close.

“I couldn’t imagine a sadder story,” she offered, unsure of what to say but knowing she had to try. She didn’t see the purpose in it, any reason besides the assortment of topics that led them across the tragedy of Qrow and Raven and Pyrrha’s shared dream of an undeveloped Mountain Glenn under an unbroken moon, but she could feel Ozpin’s sorrow settle between them.

Some stories were like that, so real in the messages they shared that one couldn’t help but be affected by them on a deeper level than expected, and Pyrrha wondered if this was what Ozpin carried when he thought of this legend. There were myths she had read of in books he shared with her that stuck with her for their beauty, their cruelty, and their unforeseen meaning in her own life. Stories of friendship and bravery were never without a challenge, rarely without a dark and terrifying evil to overcome, and nearly all were bittersweet in some way.

She felt herself drifting away into a heavy slumber, Ozpin awake to watch over her as her weariness pulled her deeper into the velvet and linen. She breathed him in, the scent of amber and pine lulling her, and her limbs went heavy as his arms held her close. His breath tickled her hair across her skin and she wished with all of her heart that it could be this way for far longer than they undoubtedly had, wrapped in him every time she fell asleep and there next to her whenever she woke up. His shuddering sigh answered her as he read the desire of her soul to reside with his beyond their necessity and far into whatever future might be kind enough to keep them joined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Can I BE any more obvious?" - Ms. Chanandler Bong, about where I'm going with this.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have made it to Chapter 27 and haven't left a comment or hit that little Kudos button, your effort to do either or both those things is appreciated. 
> 
> I almost called this chapter "When A Really Convoluted And Clunky Flashback Turned Into Actual Plot Development; a.k.a. We've Gotta Get Moving On The Main Story Here."
> 
> Life happens and I haven't written in awhile so we're officially no chapters ahead and I still refuse to spend time editing. We'll see how this goes. I can tell you I plan for the pace to pick up considerably. We're going to encounter some calm-before-the-storm type fluff, hopefully some battle and action and heartbreak and triumph, and I have an ending in mind that seems satisfactory at the moment. I have no idea if that means we're halfway through or not even close or closer than we think but I plan on going as long as I'm having a good time with it.

General Ironwood’s immense fleet hovered above Vale and, with even more ships stretching across the horizon, Pyrrha felt the same sense of awe as her classmates as Beacon Academy waited to welcome students and guests for the Vytal Festival. Shade Academy participants slouched and guffawed around the doorways and Haven representatives mingled quietly with Beacon students, some wearing school uniforms but many wearing their huntsmen gear. Not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than necessary, Pyrrha elected for her school uniform, knowing her armor would be altogether too flashy in the bright but windy spring sun. As it was, her headdress brought whispers from those who recognized her from the Mistral Tournaments and she had been asked several times by younger visiting students if she would sign a Pumpkin Pete’s cereal box for them.

Norah, who would usually tease Pyrrha in good-nature about the embarrassing encounters, stayed quiet when Pyrrha put on her media smile and cordially signed her name for yet another admirer while everyone waited for Atlas Academy to arrive. Team RWBY had gone out into the woods on an impromptu overnight assignment with Qrow, returning just minutes before Atlas was due, and the exhausted huntresses were making their way to the front of the crowd as best they could. Pyrrha didn’t want to cause a scene, either with the possibility of an overzealous reunion or the cold snub she anticipated, but she had been disappointed Team RWBY had left yesterday by the time Pyrrha arrived back at her dormitory from Ozpin’s tower.

Waking up alone wasn’t the way she anticipated spending the afternoon and she cast a longing glance across the empty bedroom before returning to the rest of the school, stashing her armor and weapons in the lockers while she mulled over Ozpin’s story. She was still uneasy about the missing explanations, receiving more cryptic mythology for answers to her questions rather than concrete information, and knew no more than before she asked as to why she had shared Ozpin’s dream of a whole moon shining down upon what was now the failed development of Mountain Glenn. In all their training, Ozpin had always shared her meditative space, never his own, and she wondered if that was where he referenced when he needed a foundation for his wandering thoughts. Rarely did they share dreams, only the handful that had resulted in Pyrrha’s light flush when she recalled them, and they continued to keep their silent conversations to a minimum.

Feeling embarrassed for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on, Pyrrha elected for a quick meal on her own and time spent in training late into the evening. Ren joined her in meditation for some of the late afternoon, each quietly assessing the other and providing silent but much needed support to each other; it was difficult for Ren to see Norah at odds and equally difficult for Pyrrha to feel so separate from the team. If she had wanted to talk, Pyrrha knew Ren would have listened and offered advice and, if Ren had wanted to ask about Norah and what happened in Vale the night before, she knew he would have spoken. He gave her a slight smile in return when she reached over to squeeze his hand before he left the training room, sunset fading quickly in a milky wash of clouds over the woods surrounding the school and pulling Ren’s face into deep shadow as he looked down at her before leaving her to her own thoughts. As desperate as she was to make up with her friends, she also hesitated to rush headlong into any conversation for the fear she’d finally snap and tell them everything. Even having acknowledged her continued obligation to silence just hours ago to Ozpin himself, Pyrrha felt immensely vulnerable. Had Norah or any member of Team RWBY joined her as Pyrrha stepped through her sequences, Milo transforming with silky ease with every movement, the red-haired huntress knew she wouldn’t be able to keep silent.

She slipped deftly into bed late in the night, keeping an eye on the snoring lump that was Norah and watching Jaune’s steady breathing under his mess of blankets as she willed sleep to come. Across their inky chasm, Ozpin seemed distracted and it was to her shock when she realized she didn’t want to speak with him; it wasn’t that she was upset or angry with the headmaster but, rather, she didn’t have anything to say. In his state of mind, whatever was so pressing that he didn’t return her tentative reach, what would she say that would satisfy the itch under her skin for certainty? For comfort? These weren’t things she knew he could give her in a brief glance across the stardust of their souls. She had found those reassurances without him, before him, and she knew she was her own worst enemy when it came to the thoughts that haunted her. She was a good friend, even though she couldn’t share the secrets she knew her friends sought to carry with her. She was a smart person, even though she was so split between Qrow’s rigorous practices and Ozpin’s aura training that class was a sporadic intrusion in her day. She was a loving niece, even though she was far from Auntie May and could only visit on sanctioned breaks from Beacon. There were so many potential failures to worry over if she let herself ignore the positives to her decisions and Pyrrha tried to be as optimistic as she could but, feeling so disjointed and disconnected from the everyday nuances of being a student, she wondered if she would have felt this sad if she hadn’t defied the order to transfer to Atlas.

Now, as she watched the General and his accompanying mechs gather at the door of the flagship poised over the flightpad near the school’s outer boundaries, she tried to keep herself from looking for Ozpin in the throng around her. She heard Team RWBY as they continued to make their way through the crowd, Jaune waving at them to come join Team JNPR as they took in the sights of so many ships and new students. Norah continued to stand as quietly as Pyrrha ever remembered, saying little and agreeing with Ren’s statements without much to add, and she cringed as yet another student from Haven recognized her as a former classmate to the people around them but didn’t make a move to come say hello to Pyrrha herself.

The last school to arrive, tournament participants from Atlas Academy disembarked from a large, gleaming cruiser at Beacon’s sweeping front entrance, led by none other than the General himself. His strides were authoritative, his smile genial, and Ironwood’s figure was bold and broad in his crisp uniform. The school and military nearly one and the same, the students behind him practically marched at attention with chins high; the red-haired huntress couldn’t imagine herself or her Atlasian classmate wearing the strict garb that stripped them of immediate individuality.

Lesser Atlasian delegates followed, each championing the students handpicked for the tournament, and flashing silver ribbons rippled off the wings of the ships. Banners carried by Atlas Academy representatives snapped in the breeze and everyone watched the pomp and circumstance that outdid the other visiting schools. Baggage had been unloading in Vale most of the morning and would be brought to the visitor’s dormitories and lodgings, the mess hall would be undoubtedly full to capacity come lunchtime, and she could only imagine Weiss’ panic at having less than two days to finish preparing for the formal dance that would mark the opening of the Vytal Festival. Pyrrha saw a familiar crow swoop to land with a flutter of onyx wings atop one of the lightposts, cawing with a twist of a sneer as the airships, empty of their cargo, hummed back into the skies.

“She’s not here,” Weiss said sadly, the wind carrying her soft voice only as far as Pyrrha’s ears as she jumped to find Team RWBY right behind her. She watched Jaune move to put his arm around the heiress, Yang nudging him out of the way to wrap an arm around Weiss as Ruby grabbed her friend’s hand. “I know she’s busy but she could at least have come for the opening dance. All my hard work…”

“Our hard work,” Ruby replied dreamily, correcting Weiss while patting her on the shoulder reassuringly.

“It isn’t traditional for the headmasters to come for the full festival, anyway,” Yang said. “Dad told me about it. They normally just come for the championship rounds, as long as they’ve got a student in the ring.”

“Headmaster Lionheart never even attends if he does have a student in the final round,” Pyrrha offered, cutting the tension before it could stretch and snap as Team RWBY locked their eyes on her and she found herself needing to say something, anything, to recognize them without also acknowledging the last time they saw each other.

“He didn’t come to the Mistral Tournaments?”

“No, he did,” she answered Jaune, recalling shaking the hand of the headmaster from Haven Academy after each of her wins. Leonardo Lionheart had warm hands and a welcoming smile but it hadn’t been enough to catch her interest or memory besides the brief congratulatory moments after the fights. “He was at every one. I remember seeing him in attendance, cheering and hosting visitors to Mistral. The Vytal Tourament has different protocol, though, from what I understand."

"Maybe he doesn’t like traveling,” Norah offered as she stood on tip-toes to see over a particularly tall boy who blocked her view.

“Maybe he’s afraid of the General,” Ren mentioned, gesturing as Ironwood shook hands with Doctor Oobleck and Professor Port. They all watched as Ironwood’s face slipped from an easy smile and into a grimace as he recognized the noisy bird nearby.

“James isn’t scary,” Weiss admonished, Yang catcalling playfully as her teammate flushed. “I mean, General Ironwood is a friend of the family. He used to stay for tea after business meetings with my father.”

“Sounds pretty cozy,” Blake intoned dryly, all of her teammates recognizing the veil that the Black Fang left over Blake’s perspective of Atlas. Weiss huffed, straightening her battle skirt and picking lint off Ruby’s hood.

“He doesn’t come over much anymore,” she said as nonchalantly as she could, some hidden history coming to light as much as she tried to shrug it off. “Not since Winter joined him. She wasn’t supposed to go to Atlas, much less enlist in the military. Father blames Ja- General Ironwood, I think. I overheard them once, yelling in father’s office, about Winter. Whitley caught me listening.”

Recognizing now was a good time to drop the topic, Weiss never having much to say after the rare but heavy reference to her younger brother, Pyrrha inwardly flinched as Ruby did exactly what the red-haired huntress hoped none of her classmates would do in this tentative peace.

“So, Pyrrha,” Ruby started, scuffing her toes against the stones and ignoring Yang and Blake as they tensed, both of them recognizing the uncomfortable moment as it transpired. “I might owe you an apology.”

Pyrrha started to apologize herself, not knowing exactly what for or what she was going to truly say but recognizing how far to the ends of the world she would go to keep her friends. Her stammers were cut off as Yang jumped in, her violet eyes stopping the jumble of words.

“No, listen to us, Pyrrha,” she said, gesturing to her teammates. “Qrow had some things to say about how we acted the other night. I still don’t think we’re entirely in the wrong here. We’ve always been there for you and it feels cold that you don’t trust us enough to tell us what’s been going on. All school year, we’ve tried to support you and help as you trained with Winter, then Qrow, and all these visiting instructors we’ve actually never seen. If you’re getting special training in aura, that’s fine. Velvet gets special weapons training every week and Professor Port gives extra lessons to a few favorites every now and then – we’re not jealous and you’re not different – but it gets hard when we can’t be with you even when you’re around. It’s like you’re almost always split between us and something else, even when you can relax and just hang out.”

“Uncle Qrow told us you’ve been picked for something,” Ruby added. “He wouldn’t say what but he did tell us that you didn’t want it but you’re too nice to say no. Or something like that. He didn’t seem happy about it-“

“He was pretty spooky, actually,” Yang interrupted, Weiss rolling her eyes to share with them all exactly what she thought of Qrow and his mercurial attitudes.

“But now that we know you’ve been sleeping in-“

Yang clamped her hand over her sister’s mouth, Ruby turning as red as her hood as she realized she wasn’t supposed to say that part, Blake’s ears flattening under her bow as the dark-haired huntress glared at them. Pyrrha realized she must have shared about the book-laden bedroom and at least mentioned her visit the night Qrow was nearly killed; the huntress slightly shook as she wondered what her friends must think of her for sleeping in another’s bedroom late at night, even if it was by herself.

“Qrow said Ozpin won’t let you tell us,” Weiss said, catching Norah’s eye as both teams listened close. “He told us to look for a green-haired girl and a boy who might be with her and let you know right away if we hear anything suspicious about someone looking for you.”

“That’s pretty vague,” Jaune said, concern plain in his voice. “Pyrrha isn’t exactly under the radar when it comes to the tournament. A bunch of people have wanted to meet her and the festival hasn’t even started.”

Pyrrha couldn’t even find the shame in her fame to manage a decent blush, rooted to the spot as her friends gathered closer. The crowd around them started to disperse, parting to allow Atlas students into the school; some of the Haven and Shade students wandered down the path to Vale and Pyrrha heard Velvet’s voice calling out to the rest of her team over the crowd. The familiarity of the moment, out in front of the school on a bright day, brought to mind a tear-stained photo carried in the breastpocket of a broken man, and Pyrrha had a difficult time keeping herself from distraction.

“We’re frustrated,” Weiss said, flipping her long white ponytail. “We were feeling left out. It didn’t seem right this whole time but knowing you’ve been sworn to secrecy by Professor Ozpin himself changes things. I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“We were hypocrites,” Yang apologized, hands on her hips as she smiled at Pyrrha. “It’s been a lot lately and now, with tracking down the-“

Blake cleared her throat pointedly, Pyrrha noticing Blake’s discomfort talking about what was undoubtedly a recent double-cross against Qrow as the black-haired beauty went back on her word to the hunter that she wouldn’t sneak around without him in pursuit of her ex-lover and their compatriots-turned-traitor to the White Fang’s cause. The four huntresses hadn’t just had revelations about Pyrrha around their meager campfire on their overnight assignment – Blake had undoubtedly had a similar night to Pyrrha’s own and divulged even the deepest secrets, sharing her own role in that unfortunate fight just a few nights earlier.

“I just wish I knew what was going on,” Norah said, the first time the huntress had offered anything to the conversation. Her blue eyes caught Pyrrha’s and she recognized the pity in them, slightly insulted as she found there was nothing worth pitying about her situation.

“I chose this,” Pyrrha said, softly but quickly as she recognized they were losing the cover of the crowd. “I said yes when I was offered what I was offered. If I can master it, I can help the world. I can’t say no to that but I can’t live both lives anymore. I’d much rather spend what time I have left with my friends and not fighting with them. I can only tell you all so many times that I can’t share anything about this and, when you know, you still won’t understand why I agreed.”

“Who says we won’t understand?”

Yang’s answer to her indignity was realized when Pyrrha glanced across them to catch the gleam of Ozpin’s cane as the Headmaster of Beacon Academy welcomed Ironwood with the formality required of his arrival. She saw the firm handshake, the tousle of silver that was so much brighter than Ironwood’s dark slick of hair, the smile that held only a practiced hint of mirth, and the velvet jacket that took in the heat of the day around them. As the red-haired huntress quickly turned away, she caught Norah’s eye and recognized the fact her teammate knew more in that moment than Pyrrha had ever dared whisper to her herself.

“Do you forgive us?”

Pyrrha broke from Norah’s stare as she turned to Team RWBY, their leader gazing hopefully back at her as the red-haired huntress struggled to make sense of the request. For the first time, she felt genuinely annoyed with all of them and wished she had spent more time tracking Cinder and training than trying to fit within Team RWBY’s prerogatives.  They had their own futures, lives that would be changed by what evil Qrow had warned them about, and Pyrrha’s frustrations that Qrow had given them more information than Ozpin had given her were plain on her face.

“That’s okay,” Yang acknowledged, mistaking Pyrrha’s response as a lack of interest in amending their friendship at the moment. “We’re here when you want to talk. We’ve got your back in the tournament qualifiers tomorrow, too. Maybe you’d still want to come to the dance with us?”

“The dance!” Weiss shouted, spinning on a heel and practically running back to the school, listing everything she hadn’t been able to do since being sent out on assignment, Winter and Pyrrha push to the back her mind as Yang followed with a smile and a shrug. Blake wandered after them, giving Pyrrha a glance that was a promise to talk later, and Norah dragged Ren along behind their classmates.

“So, do you have a date?” Jaune asked Ruby, the young huntress ignoring him and starting in on a blow-by-blow recollection of the Grimm they fought the day before, describing in great detail how the four teammates had taken down a huge herd of Ursa before the beasts reached a nearby village. Pyrrha found herself standing alone, watching Ruby and Jaune disappear among the visitors. Even though the day was warm with the spring sun, storm clouds gathered on the horizon and threatened to cast shadows over Vale as the evening approached; Pyrrha shivered as the wind picked up.

“Ms. Nikos, how good to see you again,” Ironwood greeted her, startling the huntress as she tried to collect her thoughts. Anyone else would have reveled at being acknowledged by such a prestigious guest, Team GLMR keeping a close eye in particular on the General since he stepped from the airship, but Pyrrha found no pleasure in his company. She turned and acknowledged him with a tilt of her head and a courteous smile, Ironwood placing a light and respectful kiss of greeting on her hand unexpectedly. A formality strict to the Kingdom of Atlas, Pyrrha recognized it as the greeting of an inferior to a superior, the acknowledgement of her supremacy over his status, and she frowned, trying to understand before realizing he believed her future ascension warranted this action.

“Hello, General,” she said, having little else to offer except her manners. She saw a hint of sadness in his eyes as he turned away and placed her hand on his arm to guide her to walk with him.

Uncomfortable with the attention she was receiving from those around them, she took her hand back and turned to see Ozpin gesture to the dusty old crow watching from the lamppost. His face, too, was hard and his flick of the wrist impatient. Pyrrha continued walking alongside Ironwood, straightening her shoulders and putting on a false smile lest anyone assume this was anything but a brief courtesy between a favored champion and an honored guest.

“What’s changed?” she asked quietly, Ironwood guiding them past the hustle of students and guests. Blake caught her eye, watching from a nearby pillar where she stood with Yang, Ruby, and Jaune, her golden eyes narrowing in distaste as she saw the General accompanying her classmate. The commotion around them hid their silent call to each other, groups separating Pyrrha from Yang’s laughter and Ruby’s exuberance. Jaune caught Blake’s line of sight just as the red-haired huntress turned down the corridor that would lead them to offices and the private elevator that would take them to Ozpin’s private quarters high in the tower. Pyrrha wished for the thousandth time that she could tell them all even just a little bit to help them know why she had to disappear from their company yet again but couldn’t pull her attention from Ironwood’s stiff stature.

“How can you tell something’s changed?”

“Your presence for the Vytal Festival is appreciated but entirely unnecessary,” Pyrrha stated, knowing full well Ironwood’s nonchalant tone was at odds with his somber greeting just moments ago. “Your fleet hovering over Vale must mean something. Did you find… her?”

“We think so,” Ironwood replied, allowing Pyrrha to pass through the heavy metal doors ahead of him. “There’s more you should know about, though. Ozpin thinks it is time we-“

“That would be enough for now, General,” the Headmaster interrupted, having followed them at a close distance. Closing the gap, he was formal and stanch in his greeting, Pyrrha’s stomach knotting. Whatever had created the need for distance between them since their tender moment just the other day was soon to come to light. Qrow swooped into the elevator as the doors closed, coming to perch on Ozpin’s shoulder before cackling again at Ironwood. Pyrrha sensed the air around them shifting as though a lightening storm approached and she felt for the first time as though she may not trust whatever was to come next from the three worldbreakers escorting her back to the top of the tallest tower, back where Pyrrha's journey as future Fall Maiden began.

 

-

 

A sudden early spring rainstorm lashed against the windowpanes, a welcome relief from the snow but providing no more than damp distraction from the company joining her in Ozpin’s study. Pyrrha sat once more in the scratchy tapestry chair near the fireplace, the mahogany predators a fine match for the hunters in the room that would rank their flesh counterparts among prey. She crossed her legs politely at the ankle, held her cup of tea carefully above the saucer, and pretended there was little to remember as she recalled so many nights alone with Ozpin in this room since their first meeting. The tender way he held her stockinged feet as they read on the settee, the evenings arranged on the floor with stacks of books and molten flame in his eyes whenever she caught him staring, the peaceful afternoons sitting apart but yet together all the same as they researched aura and Maiden fables. Qrow and Ironwood were unwelcome intruders, reminding her this was not her domain to command and their presence was by invitation by the master of this school alone.

The General sat still as a rock, tense and ever poised as he, too, sipped at his drink. He rested an arm carefully on the edge of the settee, tipping the contents of a small silver flask into his tea with a practiced quickness that would have humored Pyrrha had she not been so nervous for what was to come of this meeting. His starched broadcloth and Dust-infused trappings of rank were foreign and out of place in the study. It was so quiet Pyrrha could hear the whir of his mechanical prosthetics as he placed his teacup back in the saucer on the small table beside him. They waited for Qrow and Ozpin as they heard the hushed voices in the hallway grow ever louder. Ironwood tensed to join them and Pyrrha turned to watch the door, neither the Headmaster of Atlas Academy or the goddess-to-be trying to make small-talk as they occasionally glanced at each other.

Pyrrha jumped to her feet, avoiding knocking over the fieldmice footstool as she stood to greet Ozpin and Qrow as they burst into the room, the ragged hunter throwing open the door in fury as Ozpin followed him with a clenched jaw. She hadn’t heard what they were discussing in the corridor but it was apparent things had not gone Qrow’s way.

“Really, Qrow? How childish,” Ironwood reprimanded, standing and throwing the hunter a disgusted look as Qrow pulled his drink from his jacket pocket and threw the contents back in a grand gesture. The hunter gave Ironwood a rude gesture with his ringed fingers as he tucked the flask away and Pyrrha hated the way Qrow’s eyes softened as they caught her watching him; she wasn’t to be pitied, no matter what was about to happen, and his traumas were too far beyond her own to justify his judgement of her misfortune. She wasn't the victim in any of this and would not be treated as such.

“If we’re going to talk about childish, how about sending a child to do the work of an army?” Qrow snapped, gesturing at Pyrrha as she frowned.

“I am not a child,” she retorted coolly, eyeing the hunter as he began to pace along the length of the room. “You’ve watched me for years, deciding whether or not I was huntress enough to withstand the future you had a hand in delivering me to. If I wasn’t enough for whatever is coming, then you picked the wrong person.”

“You’re just a girl!”

“I’m not Ruby!”

Qrow whirled to face her as he paced back across the floor, Pyrrha wondering if he was going to attack her before seeing the struggle on his face. If she had stuck a knife between his ribs, she couldn’t have done him more pain. For all his crassness, rude behavior, inappropriate joking, and excessive drinking, Qrow loved his nieces and took their friends under his protective wings through that love. Pyrrha had never felt close to him like family, keeping him at a distance like Winter kept her, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a begrudging fondness in his company. Much like when the icy Atlasian Specialist was making frequent trips to Beacon specifically for Pyrrha’s training, Pyrrha looked forward to their spars as much as she dreaded the tough lessons to be learned; Winter and Qrow were both impatient, occasionally cruel, and held her to a rigorous standard few could meet, but she appreciated that to do anything less would be doing her a great disservice. There was no kindness on a real battlefield, no mercy in a real fight, and lesser hunters and huntresses had been killed for expecting the same leniency in the reality of their situation as they had in practice.

“Even Ruby knows when to back down from a challenge,” Qrow snarled, rage boiling over until Ironwood moved to place himself between the hunter and the huntress as Qrow advanced and Pyrrha found herself leaning forward with closed fists. “I always taught her when enough was truly enough! When to save her own skin instead of running into a fight she can’t win! You can’t win this one."

“Win what?” Pyrrha replied, trying to keep from shouting again as she tried to walk around Ironwood to better see Qrow. “What am I up against besides what’s already been explained, over and over and over again? I am the next Fall Maiden and I’ve trained for this without rest, without relief, without any expectation to do anything more than survive the powers when they transfer to me.”

“Maybe you can explain to Ozpin that it won’t be enough,” Qrow gestured at Ironwood, snapping his knuckles against the metal plating of Ironwood’s chest. Pyrrha vaguely wondered how hurt the General had been to have received such extensive replacements as to create the hollow thud above Ironwood’s heart.

“Assaulting a commanding officer of the Atlasian military is a punishable offense,” Ironwood warned, continuing to place himself between Pyrrha and Qrow as neither seemed ready to back down. Qrow, momentarily forgetting Pyrrha, rapped his knuckles again against Ironwood’s chest. To his credit, the greying hunter didn’t make a sound when Ironwood caught Qrow’s wrist in a crushing grip with his metal hand. Without his aura, Qrow’s bones would have easily snapped.

“You’re sending her to her death, Jimmy,” Qrow sneered, his voice edged with pain as Ironwood continued to clench his fist. “You’re gonna handle knowing what part you played in this?”

“Soldiers know what to expect, including the possibility of giving their lives in the service of their kingdom,” Ironwood replied, colder than Winter and with all the potential threat he intended if Qrow did so much as flinch toward Harbinger, the crescent weapon folded and slung at the hunter’s side.

“She’s not a soldier,” Qrow answered, nearly nose to nose with Ironwood as he faced off against the man considered to be the most intelligent and cunning leaders Atlas had ever had. “She’s a girl, hardly old enough to be out in the world on her own, much less saving it!”

Qrow’s sentence ended with a shriek that echoed off the stone and wood in the room to ring through Pyrrha’s ears. She took deep, calming breaths like she would before physical combat, preparing herself to launch between the General and Qrow as they postured. Ironwood released Qrow’s wrist and the hunter sneered in the thin daylight breaking through the rainclouds, turning on his heels to slouch over to a window as Ironwood adjusted his jacket in indignation.

Pyrrha turned to find Ozpin leaning heavily against the closed door to the study and, for a tense moment, she wondered if Qrow had wounded him. The headmaster bowed his head, staring down at the pommel of his cane, his whole body nearly slumped in an uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. Ozpin was never anything but formidable, tall and capable, and Pyrrha startled to see the weary bow to his shoulders. He looked up through his silver tangle of hair to find her luminous green eyes, wide and shocking in her pale face, and he held them for a moment before sighing.

“Ms. Nikos,” he began, Pyrrha’s heart chilling at the weight with which he addressed her. Not by her first name, not by an endearment, but with the correctness due to her as a student. It bothered her, wiggled under her skin to nag at her even as she knew this was the precursor to whatever news hung like a blade above their heads. Across the room, as Ozpin moved to grip the cane tightly in his hands, the force within the polished ebony and glimmering silver started to sing to her and Pyrrha felt the swift ache of loss that accompanied her encounter with the Relic Tree. The Maiden-spirit reached to her more and more often when she was nearby, to the point of distraction at times, and she felt it call to her and promise the peace that came with the starry pool and outstretched arms that glistened with celestial waters.

“Please, Ozpin, sit down,” Ironwood gestured to the settee, a move completely lost on the Headmaster of Beacon Academy as he continued to gaze upon Pyrrha from across the room. He balanced what he didn’t want to share with what he knew he must and, in that trial, Pyrrha saw the haunting beauty of his tension. How many decision had he made for the world, she wondered? How often had he walked the paths others refused? The moment was as ancient as the oldest books on his shelves, as new as the rain against the stones of the school, and Pyrrha knew by the way the weak sunlight cut his profile sharp before disappearing back behind the stormclouds that he was doing everything in his power to stay strong for this moment.

“We cannot risk the transfer,” he said, looking down at the cane in his hands and refusing to meet Pyrrha’s eyes as he spoke.

“Well, why in the abyss not?”

Ironwood didn’t lash out again at Qrow for the hunter’s outburst, everyone in the room fixated on Ozpin with the same need for that question to follow with an immediate answer. Prisms cast back flares of emerald light as the stormclouds swirled through the sky to reveal and veil the sun at their whim. Pyrrha wondered at the brief cessation of the whir of cogs in the clocks around the room, the halt of sands slipping through the hourglasses, and she wished she could do anything but stand still as Ozpin, for the first time she’d ever known, couldn’t find the words to speak.

“You’ve risked your life,” Ironwood offered, breaking the silence that made their heartbeats sound out like striking hammers. “Her life. The school. What changed?”

“We thought we had trapped all of the Fall Maiden’s powers,” Ozpin said slowly, straightening with an effort and holding out the cane in front of him for all to see. “I’ve come to believe this is not true.”

Time resumed around them but the huntress remained suspended in that moment, gripping the arm of the chair and sinking to sit in disbelief as she caught on to the horrible reality before Ironwood and Qrow did.

“We only have a portion,” the headmaster continued, calm and collected despite the urgency weaving through his silky voice. “I concede you may be correct in your assessment, Qrow, of who may possess the rest.”

Qrow’s hand covered his face briefly, the hunter wiping his brow before turned to Pyrrha, watching the young woman process the possibilities and implications. Ironwood glanced between them, no longer needing to keep the hunter and huntress from each other and standing uselessly in the center of the room as the once sunny day now beat angrily upon the kingdom of Vale. Ozpin walked slowly to Pyrrha’s side, the song inside the prison of Ozpin’s weapon stirring Pyrrha’s heart to action as much as it warned her away, and she sought his hand with her own trembling fingers as she found strength enough to say the name out loud.

“Cinder.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tone/pacing/whatever is totally off after nearly two months without writing. I get that. We're also back "Glynda" instead of "Glinda" - rejoice, all ye canon fans. Life gets weird and the story will only get weirder so here is a really scripted, stilted, unimaginative mess of a chapter as I correct the course with a heavy hand.
> 
> Also, ya'll who left kudos after the last chapter were really sweet. Many thanks.

 

 

“We will send my forces after her immediately,” Ironwood stated, the firelight glinting off his dark hair and shadowing his jaw as he spoke. “We’ll capture her before nightfall if she’s anywhere near Vale.”

“Your chunks of metal won’t stand a chance against Cinder,” Qrow snarled, continuing his pacing across the floor. “If I can take down a dozen mechs before your soldiers even know they’re off the grid, how can they capture a Maiden?”

“She’s not at full strength,” Ironwood retorted, defending his expensive and cutting-edge technology that quite literally cost the equivalent of a small kingdom. “We don’t know if she can even use the powers-“

“How did she come to possess part of the Fall Maiden’s power?”

Pyrrha’s question cut across Ironwood and the General fell silent as he and Qrow looked to Ozpin, the headmaster standing next to the fireplace and gazing into the small flames twisting along the wood within. The red-haired huntress was aware she just took the power from Ozpin to explain this himself but she no longer cared what Ozpin was or wasn’t willing to tell her, no longer desired to hear the words from his mouth to make them more real to her fevered heart. Pyrrha knew she had been a fool to wait so long to demand the full story as to how Ozpin came to possess the spirit of a Maiden. It would be one of the last mistakes she’d ever make, waiting to be placated rather than awakened. If she wasn’t careful, Cinder would be sure to catch them all unawares once again. A horrible memory of Qrow’s shuddering body under her hands, slick with his blood, flitted across her mind and she swallowed hard as she banished the vision back to where it crept from.

“If you don’t tell her, I will,” Qrow threatened, leaning against a nearby bookcase and crossing his arms as he stared at Ozpin, eyes hard and lips twisted. “I warned you she should have known well before now.”

“I didn’t know with absolute certainty if the spirit was captured in its entirety,” the headmaster said without turning. “I explained this after that tragic night-”

“But you suspected!” Qrow stepped over Ozpin’s words with a string of his own, “You wondered the moment I brought the cane back to you whether or not it had worked. You’ve kept us in the dark while you figured it out on your own time. All the while, you have students running around Vale looking for this murderer who took down a Maiden-“

“Keep in mind I have let you place Ms. Belladonna in danger time and time again without a word against you,” Ozpin cut with an uncharacteristically abrupt tone, Pyrrha hearing the caution in his voice the same way a fallen branch snapping in an otherwise quiet forest would alert the hunter to his prey. All knew Qrow proceeded at his own risk beyond this warning.

“I allow you the façade of permission to take a student out for training, afterhours and with great risk to our greater goals, with the understanding you will lay your life on the line should any harm come her way. You’ve seen what Cinder is capable of with your very own eyes, and yet...”

Ozpin’s hand extended to place the cane near the fireplace, near Pyrrha herself, and the fingers of that hand gestured with an invitation to respond while his back was turned. Tension crackled in the air, daring anyone to risk themselves with a response, and Ironwood’s sip of tea felt nearly inappropriate while discussing death and mayhem. Pyrrha assumed such things might be, to him, just a step above polite conversation; what war room decisions had he made accompanied with such a casual action as meeting a cup to a saucer? Even the General, though, was wary of Ozpin and Pyrrah saw the energy behind the forced casualness, the effort behind the façade of effortlessness, that allowed him to persevere through the consequences of such decisions.

“Your greater goals, Oz, have done enough to risk students at Beacon,” Qrow replied with a measured dose of respect in addition to his disgust. “Maybe not my nieces or their friends but you can’t say what you say and mean it when you’ve done what you’ve done to some of us while we were your students.”

Ozpin didn’t break his gaze from the fire as his guests tried to decipher whether or not Qrow had gone too far. Pyrrha recalled Qrow’s story just a few nights ago, high up on the rooftop after her strange shared dream with Ozpin, and knew somewhere in her gut that Qrow hadn’t exaggerated his past encounters with Ozpin. The headmaster of the school he attended threatened Qrow’s tribe if he or his sister put anyone else in danger with their plot to undermine the future of hunters and huntresses to serve Remnant. Even under false pretenses, he had still been a student, as well as Raven, and Pyrrha noted ruefully to herself how adamant Ozpin was to continue an illusion of normalcy when it came to her own student life.

“How did Cinder come to possess part of the spirit of the Fall Maiden?” Pyrrha repeated, an edge to her request this time as she guided them all back from the border of another outburst.  

Qrow closed his eyes and turned his back on the room, giving himself a moment to shape the story. He nodded almost imperceptibly to Ironwood and sighed in near regret for having sunk to holding Ozpin accountable for wrongs against others in front of those who were not owed the reasons behind the motivations. There was much he kept from the red-haired huntress and she herself had demonstrated to Qrow back in Atlas that she wasn’t ready to hear some of the unpleasant truths that brought them to this point. He also knew the under-prepared and willfully ignorant would be the first to fall in the fight against the darkness that loomed ahead of Remnant.

“Glynda Goodwitch was one of us,” Qrow began, his gruff demeanor at odds with the quiet tone of his voice as he spoke respectfully of the dead. “Ozpin tasked us with keeping the Maidens a secret from the world and, although there are just a few others who know the truth, the four of us ensured it stayed that way. We each have our area of expertise, our specialties that help keep the stories from becoming more than just that. We knew where at least two of the Maidens were and Glynda was closer than the rest of us to one of them in particular: Amber.”

“Amber was one of the youngest Maidens, receiving the powers when she was a small child. She was scared, abandoned by her family for the danger she inadvertently placed them in with no answer as to how a little girl too young to present her Semblance could have done the things she did. Glynda found her a home, checked on her, and supported her as best she could after sharing the truth when Amber grew old enough to understand. Because she trusted Glynda, we took advantage of the opportunity to learn more about the powers themselves.”

“We don’t have a complete understanding about what sort of strengths and weaknesses come with the role,” Ironwood shared as he cast a quick look at Ozpin, the headmaster standing stiff as a statue. “We were hoping Amber would be malleable, impressionable, and provide answers to... inoffensive experiments we wished to conduct. Each Maiden manifests just slightly different than her predecessors and, until recently, we haven’t had a reliable record on all the Maidens. The Fall Maiden in particular has an obscure and secretive history.”

“Strange things have found their way back into Remnant recently,” Qrow said, burgundy eyes studying Pyrrha in the darkening room. “More Grimm attacks, more chaos and disorder, things hunters haven’t ever seen but only hear about in stories pulled from their great-great-grandfather’s records. Or their children’s fairytales. There’s something coming, something darker than anything we’ve faced before, but we don’t know the first thing about how to defeat it. The Maidens are one of the best chances at driving back what threatens the safety of every kingdom on Remnant. The more we understand them, the better our odds are when it comes to war.”

Ironwood watched the huntress as she spun Qrow’s words into a new perspective, listening as intently as she did to the hunter as he edged around her question. The General was swiftly reminded of how similar the young woman was to a younger Winter Schnee in this moment, a thread of defiance and expectation for answers upon demand, as poised and proper as a young woman could be. He also recognized, without Pyrrha realizing it herself, how ready she was to leap and draw blood within the space of a heartbeat. He would expect nothing less from the haughty Schnee but the star athlete with her otherwise polite and well-mannered demeanor took him aback with her resolute and undivided pursuit in this moment for the answers she needed. He didn’t agree with Qrow’s assessment that Ozpin would ruin her – rather, he would sharpen her into the weapon she needed to become. Far too late, Ironwood thought, catching her eyes as they darted across Qrow's hunched form and Ozpin's deathly still stance before locking onto Ironwood. Were he a lesser man and unaccustomed to ignoring demands, he would have found himself uncomfortable under her gaze. 

“How did Amber die?” Pyrrha asked him, her normally pleasant smile replaced with a cold stoicism as she expected nothing less than the truth. 

“Brutally,” Qrow replied after Ironwood failed to respond, both the hunter and the Atlasian headmaster turning to Ozpin as Qrow spoke. Pyrrha watched Ozpin’s jaw clench and shoulders tighten.

“Glynda took _that_ ,” Qrow said, gesturing at the cane near Ozpin and practically spitting with the force of his words. “Jimmy modified it with experimental Dust-infusions and Ozpin assured us his weapon was created with his own form of specialized craftsmanship, whatever that means. It was supposed to help determine whether Maidens could transfer portions of their power willingly into a non-human host. If there was even a hint of a chance of containing a sliver in a controlled environment, it would make it easier to test.”

Pyrrha heard a discordance emanate from the cane for her ears only, a sign that something was amiss in Qrow’s explanation, and the huntress wondered if Ozpin was as tuned to the Maiden-spirit as she was in the moment to hear the warning. Ozpin himself made no move to add to or contradict the hunter and kept his gaze fixed on the fire as the rain began to drum again against the windowpanes, leaving Pyrrha to her realization that the reference to testing could have only meant one thing. She looked up sharply to find the General already watching her for her response.

“Atlas has already apologized for its role in the untimely and unfortunate demise of who we now know as a Maiden,” Ironwood said, tone contrite and sorrowful but a sharp gleam in his eye. “My predecessor in the scientific study of aura kept private records that were released to me upon his own passing. Those journals advanced our understanding of aura by leaps but at a terrible cost, revealing my mentor harbored a passion for his work that transcended decency. Experimentation on unwilling subjects was heavily reviewed when I brought his transcripts of his testing to the Atlasian Board of Ethical Achievement. The loss to our scientific advancements was negligible when compared to what we could accomplish with Ozpin's perspective. If I had known...”

“The damage was already done,” Qrow sneered, Ironwood throwing the pacing hunter a glance that neared hatred in that moment. Pyrrha reminded herself to breathe, pushing the Maiden-spirit’s song as far back in her awareness as she could while noting the warning had changed to lament. Ironwood likely hid a thousand atrocities under the chill veneer, a hundred thousand misdeeds justified in the pursuit of the greater good as he donned the charming smile that smothered them from sight, and Pyrrha shuddered despite herself. Here was a man who had kept her physical pain under medicinal control when she had first established the aural bond with Ozpin. A man who had taken care of Ozpin himself and provided his finest Specialists to guard Beacon while the headmaster was ill. A man who made small talk in the shuttle even while he flew her back to the school after Qrow's nearly fatal injury, who offered Winter's services under his time and cost, who undoubtedly would have treated her well as a student in his academy. She was naive to think Ironwood would have done so under any orders except Ozpin's and she recognized the man sitting with a teacup in his bionic hand had placed careful investments for undoubtedly selfish reasons. Although she had never adored him, never thought of him as a friend or confidant, she realized she would miss the perspective she had of him before the realization he had unwilling test subjects and spoke of giving them up like it was a noble self-sacrifice. Qrow's history in the Branwen Tribe and the torn mention of his role in trafficking and murders wasn't much better; as a hunter, he recognized and attempted to never repeat his previous evils. From her perspective, Ironwood had not yet given up his own corruptions.

“We cannot undo the sins of those who come before us,” the General said, hinting a request for atonement from Pyrrha in an unspoken thread of sought understanding. When she did not acknowledge or forgive what wasn’t hers to absolve, the mourning of the Maiden-spirit too haunting to speak on its behalf, Ironwood continued.

“I knew I could not repeat those grievous mistakes,” he said, gaze flickering between Ozpin and Pyrrha as the huntress sat in rapt horror and the Beacon Headmaster continued his silence nearby. “That is how I came to be part of Ozpin’s mission to watch over the tentative balance between good and evil on Remnant. He knew the experimentations weren’t just on an unusual woman with an unusual Semblance but instead on a Maiden who had slipped from sight. I gave my predecessor’s discoveries to Ozpin with every piece of humility and sympathy I possess. Had I not come forward in transparency, had I decided to continue my mentor’s work, I would have deserved no less from Ozpin than the torment that led to the Maiden’s own death.”

“As it was, I could not undo what was done and promised Ozpin I would assist in any way to further the understanding of the Maiden’s powers. From the records, we theorized what had only been alluded to in texts from hundreds, if not thousands of years ago: the possibility of shared aura. These references listed only failures in attempting the desired bond. If we could purposefully create and sustain the aural trance with both participants in sound mind and body, we could theoretically siphon some of the powers from the Maiden and into a kind of holding device.”

“Why not give Amber the cane and have her surrender as much or little as she wished?”

“We sought to do just that, Ms. Nikos,” Ironwood answered, shaking his head. “The Maidens are hosts for their power and Amber was young, inexperienced with wielding what she knew she had within her, and she found it impossible to disconnect even a bit of the power from the greater whole. Whether or not it is even possible, we don’t know, but she tried until we believed there was nothing more she could do within her limits. If another could speak to the powers through her, become a conduit for the Maiden-spirit to travel, perhaps they could persuade or take just enough.”

“Ozpin gave Glynda the cane with which to hold the powers she might receive and we prepared her as best we knew for what information we had on creating an aural trance. Qrow stood guard nearby, ensuring they wouldn’t be entirely alone as Glynda and Amber placed wards and precautions on Amber’s cottage on the outskirts of a small village near Mistral. None of us knew what to expect but we needed to ensure our assets were split across Remnant so, if the aural trance went poorly, we could immediately respond with the best course of action. I waited with medical and military transport standing by, ready for dispatch the moment Qrow, Amber, or Glynda required. They had only to touch their scroll and my men would be in transit to their location. We didn’t receive a transmission in time to-  I tried to convince them they needed more than one lone watchman-”

Ironwood brushed his hand across his face in a brief and surprisingly vulnerable display of grief and Pyrrha failed in her attempts at remaining stoic and aloof from such displays in pursuit of information. Despite her hard shift in her opinion of Ironwood, her heart was still open to the emotion of others and she felt strangely out of place in the study she came to nearly every night. Yes, the man was complicit in the wrongdoings of an entire kingdom but he was still a man. 

“I should have listened,” the greying hunter said, watching the General over his shoulder as he stood near one of the tall windows. His pacing ceased and Qrow seemed as though the words had come out of him unaware, recoiling from them as one would an unexpected and unpleasant surprise. Pyrrha watched him resume his pacing as he picked up the story.

“Glynda and Amber had a connection, a friendship,” Qrow shared, shaking his head. “She was better suited to the task of testing the Maiden-powers than any of us. When you’re talking about bridging the gap between souls, you’d think to look to the closest emotional connection, right?”

The huntress watched Ozpin’s knuckles turn white on the mantle at the mention of his former colleague. Glynda was known as one of the finest huntresses in Vale, a formidable personality that hid an undoubtedly soft heart as she sought to better the future by bettering the youth that would shape it. To return to the school for another year of education and discover one of the professors had tragically perished was one of the few things that united, however briefly, every student at Beacon. No matter how disliked Glynda could be for her rigorous combat expectations and overly judicious punishments, her obvious passion for teaching and guiding each of them as best she could had brought tears to more than a few unexpected eyes when Ozpin had announced her passing at the start of the school year.

“More than capable at damn near everything but even she couldn’t do everything on her own,” Qrow muttered, Pyrrha recalling the hunter's begrudging thankfulness for Glynda’s straightforward, by-the-book approach that brought Ozpin news of the Branwen twins’ plotting. “I helped set the perimeter and waited a distance away, on watch for anything that would interrupt them in their attempt to establish the aural trance.”

Qrow’s words hardly carried over the tremble of thunder as the weak spring storm gathered strength and railed against Vale with all the severity of a mid-summer squall. Cold gusts threw debris against the school, rain cascading down the brick and glass to completely obscure any sunlight that only recently peeked through the iron clouds, and Pyrrha’s shiver had little to do with chill as she caught Ozpin’s eyes at last. The honeyed amber had turned to bitter sap, fury cracking their brittle surface to reveal the heat inside that would consume them all on his whim. His face was terrible to behold, every angle and line revealing more and more similarity to the paintings of war Pyrrha saw at Atlas Academy, and his emotions were hardly checked as he dedicated his patience and attention to holding himself back from launching himself from the room to swoop like a bird of prey upon the world below the tower.

How terrible was his wrath, how deep his grief, when he first received the news?

“Cinder and her cohorts broke through the protections without anything more than wave of her hand,” Qrow said, his own voice heavy with nearly awed recollection. “I don’t know, to this day, what happened to allow it.”

“We have no way of knowing for sure but we don’t think Glynda and Amber established the aural bond,” Ironwood shared, having regained his usual (if not still slightly shaken) demeanor in the brief interlude between Qrow’s unexpected empathy and Pyrrha’s realization of Ozpin’s struggle to control his own response. “The spirit-“

Ozpin’s fingers on the mantle twitched as he sloped his head ever so slightly, warning James this was not his information to share.

“We moved too fast,” Ironwood muttered, Pyrrha listening close to the General as he spoke so quietly she wondered if he had intended to share aloud. “We shouldn’t have tried- Not like that.”

“The two kept me distracted Glynda and Amber fought Cinder,” Qrow recounted, hunkering into himself and dragging the words from where he hid them deep from where they constantly threatened. “Glynda was fierce, a huntress where it counted. Capable. More than capable. She meant to protect Amber. They had just tried to establish a bond that hadn’t been attempted in hundreds of years so the girl was fuzzy. Out of it, you know? But, even after the interruption to their experiment, Amber got to her feet and started fighting.”

“A Maiden and one of the finest huntsman instructors on Remnant couldn’t stop Cinder. They were hardly a match for that cousin of yours. I don’t understand how she could move so fast… so fast..  Amber ripped the cottage apart, throwing everything she had to stop Cinder from advancing on her. Glynda took a rough hit, staggered into Amber’s attack, and I got her out of the way just barely before Cinder lit the place on fire. Everything burned around us. The cottage, the field, the trees… all flame. Amber brought torrents of rain, whirlwinds that swept the fire higher and fed the inferno. Something was still wrong, though. Glynda could hardly focus, could hardly find her feet, but kept going for Amber’s sake. I tried to convince her to take the cane and run, leave me to help the Maiden while she sounded the alarm for Ironwood, but she didn’t listen. She wouldn’t leave Amber.”

“Cinder kept up with every blow, withstood every hit, threw a few of her own that rocked Amber back even while she called down the sky around us. I didn’t know whether the experiment to siphon a bit of her power had succeeded, didn’t know if that was why Glynda insisted I keep the cane, and she shoved me away to the other two. The green-haired girl was tricky, sticking to the edge of my fight with the boy. He was quick, almost as quick as I was, and I couldn’t fight them both while trying to get Glynda to just shut up and listen to me. I fumbled with the scroll while I tried to keep the kid's knives from cutting me to bits. It was hard to hear over the noise of destruction around us. I should have just taken the blade to the ribs if it meant I would hear what she was trying to tell me.”

Qrow shuddered, pulling the flask from his pocket rolling it in one trembling hand. It was apparent that Ironwood had heard this before, head bowed as he relived the account while Qrow allowed the memory of the battle and loss to sweep over him.

“Cinder killed Glynda,” the hunter finally stated, gazing down at the shining silver flask without truly seeing it. “She died before Amber could reach her, before I could throw off the two Cinder brought with her. I wounded the boy and the girl slunk away with him, through the fires and wreckage and into what remained of the woods. Cinder’s arrow in Glynda’s head was the last thing Amber saw. I went for the cane, where I let it had roll into the debris. I thought it was what Cinder was there for but she went for Amber instead.”

“Even weakened, Amber was one of the most impressive things I’d ever seen. One of the scariest, most beautiful, strangest things… Amber was an awkward girl. She wasn’t quick-witted or gifted. She was plain. Painfully shy. She only really ever connected with Glynda. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body but I thought the world was coming down around us when Amber met Cinder with everything she had. I could hardly see through the smoke and flame. Everything should have died under that onslaught. The force knocked out all my aura and I was just a bystander. I crawled under part of the roof of the cottage until I could regain enough aura to transform, to fly the cane back to Ozpin. I knew I’d have to leave Glynda’s body behind – I looked for my scroll to alert the Atlasians and watched as it melted nearby in the inferno around us. I wasn’t sure how Amber would grieve or if she would come back to Beacon with me.”

“I didn’t have to find out. Cinder not only survived the attack but had her bow and arrow at the ready. Within the space of a breath, one Amber might not have needed to take if she had all her energy and focus, Cinder shot her straight through the neck. She was dead before I could fly away.”

The rain against the school eased ever so slightly, the rumble of thunder fading as Pyrrha struggled to wrap her mind around her own cousin killing not only one of the finest huntresses Pyrrha ever met but a Maiden in all her strength. Two murders in the same fight. The ice that ran through Cinder’s blood was unfathomable and the red-haired huntress realized the full strength and ability Cinder must have. Suddenly, Blake’s nearly rabid desire to track down Adam and the Black Fang through Cinder and the now-captured Torchwick seemed unacceptably dangerous, a step closer to a lethal encounter with Pyrrha’s heartless cousin with every nighttime investigation she made.  Cinder torched a forest with hardly a force of effort – what damage could she truly do to the bustling city-heart of Vale? The heat of the fireplace was oppressive and Pyrrha longed to open a window, rain or not, just to breathe and clear her head of muddled half-thoughts.

“General,” she said, licking her lips as she sought and failed to control both her temper and her fear, an unfamiliar tone lashing out at Ironwood before she reined herself back. Her voice pitched dangerously high and Pyrrha realized she was almost shaking. “I’ll ask again. How do we know Cinder possesses part of the Maiden’s powers? When did someone notice something was wrong?”

She watched Ironwood’s rigid demeanor continue to crack with evidence of his own struggles, the proud face turning from Pyrrha and Ozpin to frown at the ornate rug beneath his feet. Pyrrha continued to pin Ironwood beneath her gaze, focusing on him even as she willed her racing heart to slow enough to guide rather than force the words from her mouth.

“I sought to atone for my mentor’s evils,” Ironwood repeated carefully, meeting Pyrrha’s green eyes with his own sharp blue scrutiny. The huntress knew from his poorly concealed displeasure that he despised his involvement, desired little more than to be rid of his obligations to the Headmaster of Beacon Academy. Every word he didn’t speak carried far more weight than the ones he did and, with the glance he shot Ozpin’s still-turned back, she recognized a severance of trust in that one small action.

“I offered my personal services, as well as precious Atlas resources, to Ozpin as he sought the next vessel for the Maiden’s powers. Cinder demonstrates every capability I have records of in regards to the potential powers of a Maiden,” he continued, Qrow shifting from his slump in front of the windows to throw Ironwood a scathing look. The General, catching him from the corner of his eye, dared the dusty old crow to say any more than he already had. Pyrrha hardly realized it as it happened but the full force of recognizing their betrayal of the fellowship sank heavy in the waves of her surging thoughts: Qrow and Ironwood had discussed this without Ozpin and neither were entirely convinced of Ozpin’s path. As she watched the silver-haired headmaster release a slow, full breath, she knew she would not need to struggle in the decision to keep to herself that two of his confidants were in collusion: he already knew.

“I’ve allowed my personal interests to rule me,” Ironwood said bitterly, pulling back his shoulders and fully resuming the ice mantle of Atlasian responsibility he bore with a grace few predecessors had matched. Gone was the Ironwood who openly mourned a fallen colleague, who spoke with both care and sympathy when he addressed Pyrrha, and she watched him slip into a nearly reckless assault against Ozpin.

“I have never supported your plan,” he stated at the headmaster’s still-turned back. “You sacrifice citizens of your kingdom, of other kingdoms, even your own students in your pursuit of fighting an enemy we know nothing about!”

An entire alliance between kingdoms threatened to crumple in front of her as Ironwood stood from his seat, upsetting the saucer near his arm. Purely theatrical, she noted dryly, knowing full well the General would never have done otherwise if not for the effect. She glanced at Qrow to watch for the smirk that would tell her he saw it, too, and assure her in his cynical tone that everyone had caught onto Ironwood’s dramatics, but the hunter wasn’t smiling. Qrow watched with the intensity of a predator as Ironwood advanced on Ozpin and Pyrrha’s skin prickled in sudden unease. How much of Ironwood's response had been a bluff? How much had he lied to them, to her, in his reaction of grief or fury? How many of his niceties had been hollow, motivated by the reward of information in her response to him? She realized she couldn't believe him, even now, and that made her far more wary of what General James Ironwood was truly capable of. 

“You won’t tell us how you’re assured the Maiden-spirit is trapped in that ridiculous cane. You prey on huntresses, or send others to do that work for you, in pursuit of the ultimate vessel. You pretend you require time for research, for pursuit of studies, but you know far more than even the closest kept records. I helped you find out how to trap this power, contain it, even transfer it to a host! You would never have had the chance to create an aural trance without me.”

Ironwood’s boots were muted on the soft rugs but the dull hollow of his footsteps thrummed through the stones as he closed the distance to Ozpin, within striking distance should either headmaster decide to take the matter to blows. Ironwood continued his verbal onslaught and released years of disapproval and coercion drawn to a head. The storm outside roared a final cry as sunlight broke through the rainstorm to cast flickering spots of light across the carved beasts of the study.

“You think she’s the one,” Ironwood gestured fruitlessly at Pyrrha, who continued to glance between Qrow and Ozpin for any sign that either one of them would attempt to stop Ironwood should he turn violent as well as vicious. “She may be a promising huntress but she's young, hardly trained even despite her moderate skill – it took my very best to train her into acceptable fighting shape and that was after months of my own successor traveling back and forth across entire kingdoms. For all the strength Atlas possesses, you tell me an army wouldn’t stand a chance against what evil you claim is coming, that this force could decimate my defenses without effort. I’ve seen nothing but effort. Extreme effort. Ozpin, you could have died trying to establish that aural trance. You risk her life, risk our own, keep secrets you vowed you would share, and all this to tell us you can’t attempt the transfer? You will. You will transfer the powers, no matter the cost to your personal liability.”

Qrow lurked near the shadows of the bookshelves, garnet eyes glittering as he hunched into himself and turned away from the headmasters to watch the world outside the study lash in the wind. Ironwood took shallow breaths, fingers flexing as Pyrrha watched his entire political career fail him when it came to the inscrutable Headmaster of Beacon Academy. Even through the veil of potential lies, this was a true act of desperation by a man so entirely assured of his place in the world that he would bring everything down around him to know where he stood with Ozpin. To Pyrrha, he suddenly seemed weaker, older, fearful. Yet she recalled her itch for certainty, her desire for assurance when she would reach across the aural connection to be sure of Ozpin’s presence, and saw in General Ironwood what corruption that lack of confidence could create. Here was a man who was unsure of so much and managed to hide that uncertainty from the world, a lonely person surrounded by people, a man who craved order and commanded everything but his own heart.

“Leave.”

Pyrrha watched Ozpin loosen his grip on the mantle, his voice piercing the air with all the usual authority and near casualness he had when he reminded students that weapons were not to be carried into the dining hall, and yet he did not turn to face Ironwood. The General stood still as Qrow watched them over his shoulder, the two men balancing on the edge of a blade that could cut allies into enemies.

“Ms. Nikos and I will join you both after the welcoming dinner this evening,” Ozpin continued, gazing into the crackling fire, the rain pelting the windowpanes as Qrow glanced at Pyrrha at last. For the first time, she saw Qrow’s hesitation to leave her with Ozpin.

She felt both parts indignant and concerned, wondering what could possibly make him think she wasn’t safe in his presence. Qrow had chided her in practices, made crass statements in passing, and asked her how she was doing just as he would ask Ruby and Yang when he saw them, but he had never mentioned Ozpin. Not since their talk in Atlas and not until their rooftop conversation had he even insinuated wanting to know about their aural bond, training and study sessions, or anything whatsoever regarding the connection. As Qrow looked away from her and to the velvet-clad headmaster, she realized he was just as worried about Ozpin as he was about her. In that moment, Pyrrha realized she had more capability to hurt Ozpin than Ironwood, was closer to him than Qrow would ever be, and their reality of their souls blending as though it were routine startled Pyrrha from any thought but panic.

_Carah, dear heart…_

His voice came to her with a strange tremble she never heard before and never would expect from him, a defenselessness that guided her back from the sudden plunge into the depths of her mind. The moment seared her with the recognition that she was connected to Ozpin in a way that made him susceptible, weakened him, and Qrow wasn’t the only one to hold that perspective.

As Qrow slunk from under the watchful eyes of a woven Maiden peering at him from a tapestry above the tall ebony shelves, Pyrrha tried to catch Ironwood’s eye. The General tilted his jaw in a way that was so startlingly reminiscent of Winter that he could have passed for a Schnee himself, folding his hands behind his back and stepping casually over the fallen cup and spilled tea as though they didn’t exist. On his way out, Qrow’s tattered cape fluttering in front of him, Ironwood glanced back to where Pyrrha sat on the edge of her seat in the scratchy tapestry chair near Ozpin and addressed her directly with all the indifferent chill he could muster.

“His sentiment clouds his judgement. He can’t see for what’s in front of him.”

The soft click of the door as it locked behind him was hardly cut through the blood rushing so loudly through her veins to pound in her ears. Dizzily, the huntress didn’t so much hear as felt the warning in his words, not quite understanding through the threat of panic that crept back into her limbs. She lifted her gaze to the largest tapestry, that of the Maiden with her emerald eyes and outstretched arms as though to embrace the world, and sought the surge of love and courage that helped her answer the clarion call to make a difference. Wasn’t this the boldest task she could have hoped for, torn from the pages of a fairy tale? To change Remnant for the better not just as a huntress but with magic at her fingertips?

Auntie May had convinced her to leave the old and embrace the new, even if the new was scary and uncomfortable, and Pyrrha desperately recalled the woods of her childhood home. Closing her eyes, she breathed deep and swore she could hear grasses whispering under a hot summer sun, water burbling in the river near her resting rock, authentic birdsong mingling with the lark-like lullaby she taught her mind to recognize as her meditative space. The huntress wished the tears didn’t well when she thought their loss would pale in comparison to what these unknown evils could do to the entire world if left unchecked. It wasn’t just her dear Aunt May or her beloved forest at risk but the kingdom she grew up in, the homes and families of her friends, and the few places that must exist that weren’t sullied by Grimm or doers of dark deeds. If they were to fail to transfer the powers, it wouldn’t be because of her – she wouldn’t let her fear stop the unique chance she had to make a difference in the world.

Of all those who would try to dissuade her, that satisfaction wouldn’t be found by a high-ranking Atlasian and his brusque mentee, or a quick-witted hunter whose perspective was as dark as his humor, or even the friends she had always longed for and finally had when she made her home at Beacon. The good intentions and political leanings didn’t sway her from her course. Even dissuasion borne from kindness, nurtured in a dark man despite (or perhaps in spite of) the dark world around them wouldn’t be enough to stop her from risking everything she had to offer. In pursuit of banishing the threat of pain and misery heralding the return to a darkness not seen in thousands of years, Pyrrha would give herself to the cause. Knowing this didn't make the burden easier to carry, she tried to find a grip on the overwhelming feeling of both being trapped and set free. She had the answer of how she could save the world, hidden in song within that cane so near her she could reach and touch it easily, and it was as though the wings of her heart stretched to the sky through the storm outside. The reality of her connection to Ozpin, the relationship of trust and respect built on circumstances thrust upon them, was the trap that now sprung around her.

The gentle hand that wiped away her falling tears was Pyrrha’s reminder of who could indeed convince her to delay her inheritance to the powers that sang to her from the depths of their ebony prison. The risk she accepted by blending her soul with another was the greatest underestimation she had ever made, the singular surprise that she had a harder time accepting as reality even in the face of children’s tales and magic come to life. It wasn’t like the affection she saw in Blake’s smile as she watched Yang tell a funny story, or Jaune’s bittersweet and ever-present crush on Weiss, or even the deep and abiding familial love her Aunt May offered a scared little girl who lost her parents to tragedy.

It was the way she sank into Ozpin’s smile when he looked twice at her, once to recognize her and twice to truly see into her eyes. It was the fondness she had for the care in his own voice when he told her about recent text acquisitions or shared a moment of his day with her when he had no reason to have done so other than he wanted to. It was the way they could slip with ease into a lesson and focus entirely on their goal and yet let fall the mantle of instruction in favor of the other’s company. It was the man who had initially offered as much or little of himself as she wanted in order to find her comfort on the path of becoming a Maiden, a man who hardly seemed a man but some otherworldly myth stepped right from one of the ancient and crumbling books he surrounded himself with, the man who was in her thoughts more often than even he knew. She realized it crept up on her in a way that she didn’t know what it was until it had already happened and untangling it from the necessity of sharing their souls made her even more confused until she sensed his same silent struggle in a moment hidden between other moments that neither could control.

_Would you believe that I, too, sometimes feel as overwhelmed as you do right now?_

Cinder and the Black Fang. Mountain Glenn but not as she knew it. The weariness of wary footing with her friends and teammates. Maiden-spirits and murders and transfers of power. All her hard work and pain and effort to learn to manage the aural trance between herself and the strange Professor Ozpin... Now that the transfer was in doubt, that Ozpin would consider abandoning the effort even temporarily, Pyrrha recognized she picked quite the inopportune moment to realize the depth of her bond and the call of her heart. Through the chaos overwhelming her emotions and flooding her thoughts, could he detect the fear she felt when she thought of losing him to save the world? Remnant had to be her priority, the transfer of power her focus, and Pyrrha felt duty smother her.

She looked up at Ozpin, harsh light falling across them as the sun pushed back the storm. The bright light seemed out of place, eerie and poorly balanced against the fear that threatened to return to Pyrrha's heart, and she was struck by the kindness in his voice despite the lines that betrayed his own frustrations. He did not move from his place by the mantle and she didn't dare shift in her chair until she knew she wouldn't burst into tears. She shared her soul with someone to whom she was a declared liability, Ironwood's declaration sticking in her throat that she was hardly more than a trinket undeserving of attention that would be better spent on grander matters; Pyrrha knew she needed to recognize the judgement thrown in anger by an insecure and egotistical man whom she could not trust any longer - but why did it hurt so much? The pain of rejection blended with the desire to help the world through what her sacrifice would bring-

"I detest that word," Ozpin spoke aloud, crooking an eyebrow at Pyrrha as she hardly heard his words. "'Sacrifice.'"

The headmaster and the huntress stared at one another as the last of the grey clouds swept across the valleys of Vale, raindrops drying on the glass that sparkled in the bright morning sun. Below the tower, throughout Beacon Academy, the rush of new friendship and eager goodwill were met with the anxiety of contest and desire for glory in the upcoming tournament. New faces roamed the halls and guests milled through the town, teammates sitting by the waters of the dock or in the grass of the fields to observe their competition before the practice rooms and battle classrooms were opened for any and all to participate in direct combat. A green-haired girl strode alongside a young man whose footfalls were heavy despite the lightness in his limbs; a woman with brown eyes and a cruel glint in her eye walked between them, her youth and beauty overshadowing the schoolgirl uniform she wore. All three appeared to be no more and no less than students from Haven, guests of Beacon for the Vytal Festival, and they were ignored by the throngs of people around them as they casually navigated the busy streets of Vale. A raven perched at the edge of town, keen eyes on the lookout for a different black bird, and Atlasian airships noted the increase of Grimm across the Kingdom of Vale but did nothing with the information.  Four girls giggled their way through final preparations for the formal dance that would open the festivities and three Beacon students noted their absent teammate as they sat down for a meal. 

As the world spun around Pyrrha, she listened for the Maiden-spirit to warn her away from the course of action she knew she had to take. The cane was silent, unyielding, and she heard nothing but the racing beat of her heart as she stood to meet Ozpin's immovable form at the fireplace. She had rarely been so uncertain, so small and insignificant in her own eyes, and the huntress didn't know if it was the insignificance that came from listening to the wrong people say the wrong things with such conviction that perhaps they were true after all. When she touched Ozpin's arm and smiled, feeling his tension race through her fingertips as he accustomed himself to her proximity, his small but honest smile in return lit through her. The insignificance that rested in her breast became the meek and wondrous moment when faced with the starlight of the universe overhead and nothing but your own thoughts to defend your existence under such majesty. Her fear became vulnerability and there was a spark that sprung from the friction of her doubts to disperse just enough of the mental and emotional fog that she could see Ozpin clearly with her heart.

Silently, she took Ozpin's cane from where it leaned against the fireplace, the Maiden-spirit crying out at her touch from within the gleaming prison. Her vibrant green eyes held his own and she handed the cane to him, a promise within her simple action: nothing would stop them from accomplishing this goal. No matter what had come before them, regardless of what others may think or say or do, she knew what she wanted. Fear sprung in equal measure with panic and exhilaration, each washing over her with breath-stealing ferocity. With each flow came an ebb, though, and it was in the space of that moment when she could breathe that she knew she wasn't alone. Whatever was to come, she welcomed it, even if it was risking a loss only the most world-weary could understand.


	29. Chapter 29

Team RWBY had regrouped with renewed energy and spirit after their mission out with Qrow and Pyrrha heard them before she saw them as she made her way across the room for the third and final welcoming dinner. Ruby was polishing part of Crescent Rose at the table, using her nails to pick dirt out of a crevice as she crooned to her beloved weapon, oblivious to the crowd quickly filling the dining hall. She greeted Pyrrha merrily and the red-haired huntress felt her heart squeeze in happiness to see the bright smile beckoning her. Blake smiled back over the top of Ruby’s head and, although she looked more tired and annoyed than usual, Pyrrha appreciated the effort for what it was; her dark-haired friend had been out prowling every evening without break and was helping Weiss with the finishing touches for the dance tomorrow evening, on top of the extra training for the tournament itself.

“Where’s Jaune and the others?” she asked, squeezing between Yang and Weiss as the visiting students and guests milled around before the evening officially began. “They weren’t in our room – I thought they would be with you.”

“Training,” Yang offered, the blonde nudging Ruby to put Crescent Rose somewhere other than across the length of the table. “Norah and Velvet teamed against Team WXYT’s doubles so they get a workout before the last qualifier tomorrow.”

“And for Ren to tactfully explain to Jaune how Norah’s bad habits in calling attacks are still better than his own methods, or lack thereof,” Weiss said, her impatience with Jaune at an all-time high. Pyrrha opened her mouth to rebuke the heiress and Yang’s look encouraged the red-haired huntress to perhaps chose her battles wisely.

“Jaune asked Weiss to the dance again,” Ruby said, her smile melting the ice princess as Weiss looked down her nose at Ruby’s dirty hands. “Well, more like he made a big scene in front of some of the Atlas students. It was kinda cute, actually, and it isn’t like-”

“It was embarrassing!” Weiss interrupted, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Jaune needs to take my answer for my answer or he’ll answer to Mertenaster next time. I’ve told him no for weeks now, he comes up with some dumb song and dance routine, and then he goes and gets himself laughed at by half my former classmates from Mercator. Why he thought that nonsense would change my mind…”

While Weiss and Ruby began bickering, Pyrrha watched Blake stare blankly at Crescent Rose as Ruby’s gesturing became more and more erratic, students around them actually ducking at one point as Ruby flailed in an emphatic argument for being nice to Jaune despite his shortcomings. Yang pulled the weapon from Ruby’s hand and Blake’s eyes followed the violet-eyed beauty with a deep-seated longing. Pyrrha wondered if there was a way she could help Blake but, short of inviting her up to the private bedroom with all those books waiting to be read, Pyrrha didn’t know what else she could suggest besides sleep.

“Blake, do you have a minute after dinner tonight?”

The dark-haired huntress startled out of her thoughts, blinking away the remnants of the gaze fixed on Yang. Blake, always composed even when uncomfortable, hid a small blush of embarrassment and shame. Pyrrha realized her classmate likely thought Pyrrha was upset about Blake sharing her sensitive information with her team.

“No, it’s not that,” she said, carefully keeping the tone from her voice that would betray that she wasn’t talking about Blake’s loose lips; how many times had she wished she could lighten her burden by sharing the same things? “I have some new information on the associate we’ve been looking for. Has Qrow ever told you about-“

Blake shook her head to shush Pyrrha, seeing before the red-haired huntress did that a group of guests were preparing to converge upon her with a pen and photos ripped from old magazines. Good-naturedly, Pyrrha signed them and inwardly cringed to note the glossy, crumpled pages were from a weapons advertisement where Pyrrha and her Milo were featured after Pyrrha’s third Mistral Tournament victory. As she scratched the pen across the pages, the young woman smiling enthusiastically while posing for the camera hardly felt like someone Pyrrha used to be, much less still was. Had she been chosen for the Maiden’s powers before or after this photo was taken? Where was Qrow in his surveillance of her when Auntie May accompanied her to each and every appearance? Had he laughed, cackling from afar, as Pyrrha was shaped into a model as well as athlete? Did he see her struggle with the limelight, fail to accustom herself to the publicity, or did he report that she enjoyed nearly every woman’s dream of fashion and finesse? A dark look, not unlike Blake’s response to Weiss when the heiress launched into defense about the Schnee Dust Company, settled over Pyrrha as the guests shuffled away with their new autographs in hand.

“You really weren’t prepared for this?” Weiss asked, guiding Pyrrha away from continuing the concerning thoughts. Despite clutching floor plans and menus for the dance in a large binder with the fervor of a grip on an enemy, Weiss’ voice was soft and kind. Ruby, aware Weiss was likely to smack her with the event plans should she continue the baseless defense of Jaune’s behavior, listened closely. Yang and Blake watched as the group saw Pyrrha’s authentic smile take over the false grin she used for strangers and uncomfortable attention.

“I thought I would have left it behind when I came to Beacon,” Pyrrha answered, never so thankful before this moment for Weiss’ own familiarity with the spotlight. “Even with the Mistral Tournaments and the photo shoots and the Pumpkin Pete’s box, I didn’t have so many people coming up to me all the time, especially when I didn’t expect them. When I came to Beacon, I wasn’t treated special. I was treated like every other student and it was up to students whether or not to treat me different. Even the teachers at Signal gave me special attention but, here, I can figure out who I am without all that.”

“I didn’t just come to Beacon to distance myself from the Schnee legacy, you know,” Weiss replied with a smile of her own. “Atlas would have treated me differently. Jame- General Ironwood would have had to, to some extent, with my father breathing down his neck and all. Here, they know of me but they don’t know ME. I got to make friends on my own terms and so did you.”

“You did try to recruit me to your team on our first day, remember? You were pretty pushy about it.”

“Of course! You were ridiculous not to accept immediately.”

Pyrrha felt the laughter down through her toes. Ruby jumped in to share a memory of their first days together and soon half their table was listening to the lightly embellished recollection of the time Weiss stopped a Death Stalker from slaughtering Ruby before the two even knew how to respectfully speak to one another. Pyrrha started a separate conversation with Blake under Yang’s boisterous retelling of a time Ruby led them both into and out of danger on a training mission their first year. Blake shared quietly how beautiful she thought Yang would look in the dress her teammate picked from Weiss’ extensive collection of formal wear she had delivered from her wardrobe in Atlas. While everyone else lamented earlier in the day about having to go to a dress shop when all Weiss would have had to do is send away for the contents of her closet, Pyrrha thought of her own new dress, tucked into the corner of the closet after she found it delivered to her dormitory that afternoon.

After arriving back to her room from the drawn-out and overwhelming meeting in Ozpin’s study, Pyrrha closed the door against the ruckus of Team RWBY in an attempt at some peace for meditation. The girls next door giggled and shouted and threw threats and compliments in equal parts as they dug into the parcels stamped with the Schnee emblem. Pyrrha noted the dress in garment bag laying across her bed was easily worth as much as any one of Weiss’ formal gowns and it hardly registered with her that she had tossed it on the floor before forcing herself to place it neatly in the closet. She had too much to think about to consider going to a dance but sheer manners kept her from considering returning it wrinkled. She meditated, the dappled sunlight casting her river into sapphire and diamond to sparkle behind her closed eyelids, the warmth of her resting rock seeping deep into her joints. Full, flat leaves rustled in the trees as Pyrrha won the fight to keep Cinder, Amber, and Glynda out of her thoughts; away from Qrow, Ironwood, and even Ozpin, the huntress found the core of her intelligence and perseverance. She carefully sent herself through her routines, separate from the still relatively new rituals she had established with Ozpin during their training sessions, and Pyrrha emerged from her meditative state feeling far more capable of handling the information laid before her earlier in the study.

Resting on her bed, keeping her feet from pacing the floor, Pyrrha thought through her commitment to Ozpin, recalling her affirmation she would be willing to try the transfer regardless of the new concerns. The hardest part was done – they had established the aural trance – and anything was new and dangerous as far as the transfer was concerned. She had secretly dreaded the potential pain the transfer would bring, the first and only sip of power resulting in the agony that cost her consciousness, vision, and her very breath. If that was from just a portion of the Maiden-spirit, perhaps it was a secret blessing that there was less to manage during the transfer itself? What if the spirit sought the missing pieces, though, if it slipped Ozpin’s control? Would it attempt to find Cinder? Would the portion Cinder possessed leave her cousin in a similar search? Could they use it to recall the missing piece? Or did they not dare, for fear the portion they had was less influential than what resided in Pyrrha’s nefarious cousin? The questions were dizzying. Pyrrha thought of the blonde, curved, cruel-eyed goddess who sang out to pull her into the celestial whirl. The huntress still dreamed of the starry pool, the golden tree, and the harmonies that coursed through every inch of her in search of understanding. How could anything be more powerful than the call of the Maiden-spirit trapped in Ozpin’s cane? Surely, they must have the majority of the powers?

Ozpin had coolly suggested she find her team once he retook his cane, pausing in escorting her to the door only to share a gentle but all too brief kiss. Pyrrha’s heart was full, her soul confident, but she still longed to understand his perspective, to know what he knew and what she knew she had kept from herself until it became too dangerous to stay ignorant. Even as his voice stayed with her while she navigated the busy corridors until she came to her dormitory, she could tell he was split in his attentions. After Ozpin admitted to Qrow and Ironwood that the transfer they risked everything for was no longer viable the way he saw it, Pyrrha’s doubts crept into her thoughts. Perhaps, just as Ironwood demonstrated his theatrically political stance on Ozpin’s decisions, Ozpin himself had played the General? It seemed petty, small and small-minded for someone like Professor Ozpin, but Pyrrha didn’t understand how Ironwood’s permission or preference mattered when it came to her life. If she wanted to proceed, knowing the unforeseen would continue to reveal itself and the risks would continue to seem more and more insurmountable, it would be her gamble. If she was right, she would have the strength to stop atrocity, to heal the wounds made by people like Ironwood and Qrow, to right the wrongs across Remnant. Even Ozpin’s hesitancy wasn’t enough: Pyrrha knew this was how she would change the world. She was going to enjoy the time she had left with her friends, though, and relish good food and familiar company before the start of the Vytal Festival.

“Good evening and welcome, one and all, to Beacon Academy.”

Pyrrha pulled herself from her thoughts as Ozpin’s voice lit through the grand hall. Stragglers found seats or stood quietly along the walls, students and specially invited guests falling silent to hear the Headmaster of the host school as he addressed them in his recognizable cadence. Instructors, tournament officials, and General Ironwood stood behind Professor Ozpin, some beaming in happiness and others attempting to look appropriately somber. Pyrrha glanced at Weiss to see her brow wrinkle in recognizing Ironwood’s usual icy demeanor was sharply edged whenever he glanced at Ozpin; she noted the Schnee Family did indeed know Ironwood well enough to tell when his façade was thin. The General could fool some of the best politicians and stake-holders on Remnant but there was no pretending with the girl who grew up in the Dust empire. Weiss lived, and even thrived, on manipulation and lies before finding her new foundation at Beacon.

Pyrrha and Weiss glanced briefly at each other as Ironwood stood perfectly still in Ozpin’s shadow. His frustration was slight, subtle, but there nonetheless; Ironwood, though he continued his stoicism and cool politeness, did not want to be in attendance. Pyrrha knew Ozpin’s summons was the only reason Ironwood was in Vale to begin with but his discomfort in being represented by a man he did not fully respect at the moment was insult to injury. Combined with her confusion and discomfort at his outburst earlier in the day, Pyrrha wondered if Qrow should have been in attendance after all if to simply keep an eye on the General.

While Weiss slumped in disappointment that her sister was not preparing for a fashionably late entrance, it was easy for Pyrrha to her eyes from Ironwood to watch the Headmaster of Beacon Academy prepare the crowd for his opening remarks. Ozpin himself looked and acted no different than how he usually presented himself, an air of mystery in his stance with a hint of mischievousness in his smile wrapped his supportive, wise voice to create Professor Ozpin as his students knew him best. The advisers, professors, and honored guests behind him were unique and wonderful to look at in their own ways, new and intriguing in comparison to the normalcy of day-to-day. Starched uniforms, Dust-infused cloth, beads and bangles, specially dyed fabrics with intricate embroidery, and even artfully worn plainclothes graced the stage but were quickly overshadowed by the presence of the host as he took his place in front of the assembly.

Ozpin, absent his white mug, rested folded hands casually over the pommel of his cane as though it were truly just a cane and not a prison for mythological powers. He was every bit the great and powerful Headmaster of Beacon Academy that Remnant knew, respected, feared, and admired. He glanced across the room, assessing his rapt audience before beginning. Everyone knew how unusual it was for him to give a speech and the room was uneasy, excited, and anticipatory; the last time Ozpin addressed them all was at the start of the year to welcome them to Beacon and break the news of Glynda’s passing. Now, with the year nearly over and his strange absence months ago still not explained, students, staff, and guests alike hung on his words. Even Pyrrha, who had accustomed herself to his presence in her day in the way one accustomed themselves to wearing jewelry, waited in anticipation.

“As we eagerly anticipate the first days of this historic tournament, let us remember the forging of peace that spurred tolerance, forced innovation, and inspired generations to favor creativity over oppressive fervor,” Ozpin began, the assembly held rapt. “The Vytal Festival honors the history and cultures of those who came together beyond their personal fears and desires to pursue a kinder, fairer world. The first modern academy for hunters and huntresses, founded immediately following the Great War, combined hundreds of years of influence and training from across all cultures into one school where anyone could attend. Anyone, that is, who truly wished to shape the world. To learn to protect Remnant from the dread Creatures of Grimm is but one aspect of your education.”

Ruby practically wiggled in her seat at the thought of slaughtering Grimm and Yang caught herself before she elbowed Blake good-naturedly as though they were sitting through just another lecture; Ozpin’s tone was light but his words were warnings to all who were familiar with the Headmaster. Pyrrha felt the darkened hall loom around her, classmates and friends the only thing keeping the shadows from stealing her hard-earned cheerful spirit away, as she realized the grander plan in addressing the group as such.

“Beacon, Haven, Shade, and Atlas are not refuges from the rest of Remnant but crucibles in which to form yourselves to better serve the world. Rigorous standards are not for competition’s sake but to ensure your survival. Although the festival is to celebrate differences and remember the historic decisions that affect each and every one of us to this day, we demonstrate to the kingdoms what future hunters and huntresses are capable of. Our diversity is our strength.”

A few students, including several from Beacon whose families were known for their influence in shaping the war to begin with, shifted and muttered. The feeling of unease was so strong that Pyrrha noticed Blake flick her eyes over those who would disagree with Ozpin. Her ears narrowed under her bow and, while Velvet nervously picked at her fingernails nearby, other Faunus and marginalized groups began to murmur in response. Although they may anticipate the Vytal Festival and tournament with all the zeal of a holiday celebration, these students knew their lives would be very different without the rise against oppression so many years ago. The creative, colorful cultural movement to reclaim heritage and pride and basic dignities was so much more than a few weeks off class and an opportunity to be cheered on the arena stage by half of Remnant. Their freedoms were born from blood and tragic loss. Reclamation of what had been lost in the Great War for these cultures would never be truly complete. Pyrrha watched Ironwood’s stiff, imposing stature with half-focused vision while she mulled the words from a recently read text.

One of the books she’d finished in leisurely pursuits in Ozpin’s study was a famous epic, considered a classic interpretation of an ancient story regarding the Island of Vytal. In the story, a man cannot escape the consequences of his past and has run out of places to hide – he has traveled all of Remnant but is constantly followed by not only enemies but his own guilt – so he raises an island from the sea and lives there, safe from harm. Over many years and none too few moral lessons for the reader, he is able to reconcile his burdens to live a long and productive life undoing his previous evils from afar. The tale was well-known in several variations (versions for children often included some little sweet creature who whispered helpful hints to navigate through the plot) but it was best remembered for the fact the treaties following the Great War were signed on the Island of Vytal. The world could not run any longer from the burden of responsibility and there were no more places to hide the atrocities committed against so many by so few who held so much power. Symbolically, the scales had been tipped after the war but the dark would come again quickly without time for reflection and repairing what damages could be mended.

“While we learn more about those who are different than ourselves and make new bonds both in and out of the arena, take time,” Ozpin continued over Pyrrha’s thoughts. “Time to cheer your classmates, to meet with friends, to introduce yourself to someone you haven’t spoken with before. Cherish the time in frivolity, in competition, in the highs and lows of the next two weeks. As the light and dark balance one another, help each other find that balance in yourselves. When at war between your head and heart, look to your companions to assure your vision is not so narrowed by that fight as to lose before you had a chance to begin. This is but a stepping stone for the larger and grander vision you are all here to achieve.”

The hall was silent as Ozpin’s voice rippled through the room. Visiting students realized why Beacon was considered the crown jewel of the huntress academies, setting new standards constantly for hunters and huntresses across Remnant. Atlas was known for rigorous training, attended by those with intense intelligence and cunning, but Beacon accepted new students carefully without favoring only those with smarts and political prowess. Ozpin and his professors helped students find what truly gave them power within so they could, with grace and passion, share that flame with the rest of the world.

“And now, please welcome someone nearby who may not yet be a familiar face and demonstrate the kinder side of the often violent profession you’re all training for.”

Keeping everyone on their toes was very like Ozpin and the abruptness with which he ended his speech was nearly amusing. Looking over, Pyrrha watched Blake frown slightly, flatly refusing to get up and mingle as others were now doing. The red-haired huntress envied Yang’s affable, open attitude to meeting new people as the blonde immediately began conversations with a nearby table. Weiss and Ruby introduced themselves to others as a team and Pyrrha caught a glimpse of Norah across the room, her teammate leading Ren and Jaune through throngs of people toward a table laden with snacks. Listening to the commotion, the tentative but upbeat voices swirling around her as students from every advanced huntsman academy on Remnant began their first full evening together as potential friends. She took a moment to enjoy the sights and sounds of the crowded room, ignoring the heat of so many bodies and the mingling aromas of food being served through the commotion.

New beginnings, though tenuous and awkward at first, held such promise and potential. She could be with the people she loved as they celebrated the best parts of training to be hunters and huntresses. Although the victor of other well-regarded competitions, the Vytal Festival tournament was one that Pyrrha remembered watching broadcasts of, enjoying the special programming and studying her favorite competitors. Now she was going to compete in it, was even the favored Beacon Academy champion, and the sudden rush cut through even her darkest thoughts. The weight of responsibilities slipped from her shoulders for a moment, Maidens and cousins momentarily forgotten, as she grinned at Blake. Blake shook her head as Pyrrha nodded at her, holding out her hand as her friend stubbornly looked for the nearest escape.

A flash of light off Ozpin’s glasses caught her eye and she watched Ozpin’s tall figure lead the delegation from the front of the room. She saw him offer his hand to an older woman, a professor from Shade Academy with brilliant red robes gathered in twists around her once athletic frame, and his cordial smile softened her own from across the room. She watched Ironwood nod affably to Doctor Oobleck as they waited for Professor Port to find his way through the throng of tall people. As Ozpin hosted with grace and allowed others to lead while he carried a brief conversation with the red-robed woman, the red-haired huntress felt even his mood lighten ever so slightly to have the students and staff around him. Pyrrha had never felt a sense of responsibility for Ozpin's mannerisms before but couldn’t help but slightly wonder if he knew this was not only what her classmates needed tonight but what she wanted, as well: fellowship among peers before reality took priority once more. She tried to rein in the potential for her feelings to bleed through to Ozpin’s awareness; the headmaster would have no problem ignoring her, as she learned to make background noise of whatever he rarely unintentionally let slip, but she didn’t want him to bear her exuberance while he was trying to host important guests.

 _Please share_ , he smiled as he encouraged his delegation of professors and staff to continue to lead the rest of the guests through the hall on their way to private dinners and personal meetings. _I’ll see you later this evening. The company will be far better then._

She lost sight of him but for his shock of silver hair as he left the hall, Professor Ozpin easily as tall or taller than any man or woman among the retinue. Briefly, Pyrrha thought of the light in his eyes when he kissed her last, then the comfort she found in his presence after particularly rigorous training sessions, boxing the two vastly different but equally important responses to unpack later. It was still nearly a shock to realize her mentor was one of the best hunters on Remnant and the Professor Ozpin who was just addressing the crowd was the same person she shared her soul with in the pursuit of bringing harmony to discordant corners of the world. The unease Ozpin sometimes felt with the awareness she was still a student at his school suddenly sat heavy in her stomach and, for the slightest instant, she wished she hadn’t felt his response to her thoughts. Quickly, he gathered himself from the reaction but Pyrrha gently pushed him away across the soft inky depths with all the softness she could muster. He wasn’t wrong. Tonight, they needed to be different people with different goals, even for just a short while.

She let the warmth of their connection dissipate as she reminded herself this was her time to be a student among students, a potential friend to any number of new and talented young hunters or huntresses. She was among her classmates and it was a rare time to celebrate what the future held for young hunters and huntresses while she was still among their ranks. While Blake continued to shy away as Weiss, Yang, and Ruby each sought others to introduce themselves to, Pyrrha stood from the table to search the crowd for someone looking for a few new friends. Through the clusters of students gathered around, the first thing Pyrrha saw of Cinder was the cruel eyebrow quirked at her in perpetual questioning.

The red enamel of her nails was bright against her long dark hair and Pyrrha could see her cousin’s brown eyes stare directly back at her without any qualm. How long had she been watching? Next to Cinder was a green-haired girl with dark skin, lovely eyes, and sharp jaw. The blue-haired mercenary, hardly more than a boy himself, sat near Cinder, too, and Pyrrha saw they were all wearing Haven uniforms as though they were simply students instead of wanted criminals. The boy was wearing a cynical grin that did nothing to light his eyes as he listened to a group of girls from Vacuo vie for his attention but the green-haired girl caught sight of Pyrrha as she realized the object of Cinder’s focus across the room. Pyrrha’s stomach flipped wildly and all the blood rushed from her head as she began to see stars swirl in the corners of her vision.

She reached out for Blake, a grasping hand finding nothing as Blake hadn’t yet noticed her friend’s plea for support. If Pyrrha didn’t do something, anything, she would fly across the room and attack her own cousin for the evils Cinder committed. Another part of her heart, an admittedly smaller part but there nonetheless, wanted to embrace Cinder, ask her to explain why she ran away from her family and became a murderess. It was the visceral part of her, however, the part that yearned for the Maiden’s song to sing through her bones even just once more, that called to Ozpin. She felt him reply from the part of his mind that occasionally (although far less occasionally than her own) let slip his own emotions without intention; Pyrrha sensed the calm response of a hardened hunter within his own controlled anger that Cinder would dare enter his school. His ego flashed and soothed in a heartbeat and Ozpin’s indignation for Glynda that her killer should arrive here was a fleeting consideration before Pyrrha felt his fear for her safety.

 _Stay where you are,_ Ozpin warned her in a firm tone. _Do not approach her._

_She sees me. She wants me to see her._

The red-haired huntress watched her cousin point her out across the room to her companions, the man and woman on either side of Cinder now assessing Pyrrha with detached annoyance. Cinder got up from the table and navigated through the students to approach Pyrrha, the young huntress responding in kind to lead this predator away from her friends. Blake heard the words Pyrrha whispered, her voice urgently cutting through the deafeningly loud room.

“Get Qrow.”

 

 

\------

 

 

“Well, well, well.”

Cinder’s voice dripped with allure and charm, the equivalent of knives slicing down Pyrrha’s spine as the red-haired huntress sat ramrod straight. Her cousin’s long legs, shapely and girlish under the uniform skirt, led Pyrrha’s eyes to the enameled nails drumming an impatient pattern on cocked hips. As long as she avoided looking at Cinder’s eyes, she could keep her self-control. That’s what Pyrrha kept telling herself, at least, and she said a silent prayer to whatever god or goddess was listening to keep the rest of Team RWBY away and visiting with guests rather than encounter her murderess cousin.

“Not even a hello? I thought we were closer than that. All those summers together and you don’t have a word of welcome?”

“You have no reason to be here,” Pyrrha muttered through numb lips, keeping her eyes on the bright red tips of Cinder’s nails and refusing to look up lest she lose her grip on her instincts. Every nerve stretched taut, every muscle begged, and Pyrrha wished she could afford the cost of sparring with Cinder. Not with her lackies, though, so close by and not with her best friends as potential collateral.

“The Vytal Festival is for everyone,” Cinder reprimanded, mocking with her sultry drawl as though they had all the time in the world to catch up on the other’s life. “I’m a guest, as are my friends. You’ve seen them, right?”

“I couldn’t miss them,” Pyrrha replied, understanding the warning for what it was. “My friends know you’re here, too.”

“You think that girl will find that drunken old man in any state to fight me?” Cinder’s laugh was bubbling, coy, and bitter – Pyrrha remembered it from the forest as her cousin picked apart small animals unfortunate enough to cross her path – and a boy nearby turned to her with an invitational smile. Pyrrha watched the boy’s reaction as he turned back to his group, not daring glance up to see what game Cinder played with him: did he get a smile in return? A grimace? Cinder’s ability to toy with others, to tie strings to them and dance her playthings to ruin, was a manipulation Pyrrha couldn’t fathom.

“Your classmate is a stupid girl.” Cinder’s nails glinted in the light of the hall as she twisted her body to invite Pyrrha to look up at her. “The amount of times I could have killed her in the night, as she prowls Vale-“

“You haven’t, though,” Pyrrha responded coldly, refusing the bait. “You’ve let her live. You let Qrow live.”

“Is that hope in your voice?” Cinder laughed again. “You’re not about to plead with me, are you? To ask me to turn from my ways?”

“I don’t know,” Pyrrha answered before she knew what she was saying, watching the nails as they stopped tapping. “Have you actually murdered people? Would you if you haven’t already?”

“Your Faunus friend needs to be a little more careful in her search for the Black Fang,” Cinder replied, unhurried. “She might not make it another night if she steps away from Branwen again. It’s only because of him that they haven’t taken her to Adam themselves.”

“He’s on his way and he won’t let you leave here.”

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Cinder mocked. Pyrrha watched across the tables as the green-haired girl with the deep eyes kept a steady gaze on her mistress as Cinder leaned into Pyrrha. The huntress smelled the clean cloth of the recently laundered uniform, the faint scorch of perfume as it mingled with the mineral scent of her Semblance, and Pyrrha felt Cinder’s body heat as her cousin bent over her.

Even as children, before Cinder knew how to activate her Semblance with any skill, she was warm. It made hot summer nights nearly unbearable when Pyrrha shared a bed with Cinder, before the girl had her own bed at Auntie May’s. How many of those burns had been truly accidental? How many times had Cinder purposefully lit Pyrrha’s hair on fire or pressed a fiery fingertip to her skin in the night? Cinder radiated heat and childhood memories flashed through Pyrrha’s mind, even as she tried to keep Ozpin’s imminent arrival as her excuse to not pin Cinder to the floor here and now. All the pain she caused in the forest to the things Pyrrha adored, all the times she disobeyed Aunt May, all the sharp words and cruel deeds she covered in honeyed false apologies or, near the end, silent glowering.

Surely Blake had found Qrow by now? If they took any longer, Pyrrha might not keep herself from looking up into Cinder’s eyes. What would she find there?

“I won’t be long,” Cinder continued, her painted nails resuming their dalliance across the fabric of her uniform as Cinder’s thin frame bent over Pyrrha’s seated form. “Just wanted to come wish you the best in the tournament, cousin. You’re the favored champion, I hear, but we’ll see how we all fare by the end of it. Some of us may not be as lucky as the crow.”

“You won’t come near my friends.” Pyrrha choked on her fury as she tried to keep her eyes from blurring, whether with tears or battle-blindness, she didn’t know. “You won’t lay a finger on those I love, Cinder, or I will hunt you down-“

Cinder’s laugh cut across the nearby conversations, drawing attention from more than a few. Pyrrha sensed the cool air across her skin as Cinder threw her head back and the trapped heat between them dissipated into the emerald-tinged air.

“You’ll do no such thing.” “

You know I will.”

“No, my dear,” Cinder sighed, continuing to chuckle as though Pyrrha had just told a very funny joke instead of a lethal threat. “No, you won’t. You’re too noble, or so you like to think. You have no way of protecting your classmates. No way of protecting May. Nothing whatsoever to keep you safe from me.”

Pyrrha, through her swimming vision, saw a shift in the crowd nearby and heard the disgruntled commotion of shoved guests in the Great Hall. She knew it wasn’t Ozpin, knew through their connection that he was nearby but not so near that she could feel his presence, and hoped Qrow had finally arrived to quietly escort Cinder into Ironwood’s most secure prison. Who was she kidding – Qrow would never do anything quietly – but at least he would be there to take over the situation. She was losing command of her control.

“Come after me and any bloodshed will be on your hands,” Cinder warned, reaching out with her claw-tipped fingers to twist a strand of blazing hair around and around, Pyrrha’s hair sparkling against the red polish. “Leave me to my devices and I’ll leave you to yours. I don’t play with your friends and you don’t play with mine. Keep my identity a secret. I’m here to find something and, once I find it, I’ll go away without a trace.”

“I don’t believe you,” Pyrrha whispered, tears threatening to spill from her vivid green eyes as she felt as helpless in her cousin’s grip as she had when they were children. She couldn’t see the crowd shifting as someone was trying to get through, the indignant mutterings growing closer, but she knew it couldn’t be long until Cinder would be forced to retreat.

“Promise me, Pyrrha,” Cinder snapped, clenching the twist from Pyrrha’s ponytail tight around her fingers. “Promise or I can’t keep Aunt May safe.”

Only a heartbeat between the threat and Pyrrha’s silent nod but it was all Cinder needed. With a flash of flame, gone as fast as it flared, Cinder burned away the hair gripped between her fingers and swung her hips away from the table, freeing Pyrrha from her presence. She blended into the crowd and the blue-haired boy gestured to his companion, disappearing from their seats to mingle among students and undoubtedly make an easy escape from the Great Hall.

“Uncle Qrow!”

Ruby’s shout stirred Pyrrha to action, the huntress breaking her limbs from where they froze at her cousin’s presence, thawing only when Cinder took the heat from her. Hurriedly, she wiped her face and shook out her hair to hide the scorched strands, rising from the table as Qrow broke through the crowd at last. Ruby and Weiss followed close in his wake, glares and confused looks following the three as guests and students resumed mingling.

“Where is she?”

Qrow’s snarl had no effect on Pyrrha as the huntress refused to even glance around. It was as though she woke from a nightmare, disoriented and confused, and she doubted she could even make out the faces of anyone but Ruby, Weiss, and Qrow at the moment. With every second, she regained more of herself but began to tremble uncontrollably. Even if she could recognize Cinder or her cohorts in the crowd, could she dare send Qrow in the right direction? Or would she be forced to distract Qrow or point him in the wrong direction? Would Cinder know if Qrow found her on his own or would she assume Pyrrha’s responsibility in his advancement on her trail? With Aunt May’s safety at risk, she would do nothing while Cinder could possibly be watching.

“Well, where is she?”

Qrow’s voice raised impatiently as Ruby caught sight of Pyrrha’s blotchy face. The young girl laid a hand on her uncle’s arm, Weiss standing nearby with her hands on her hips so reminiscent of Cinder that Pyrrha lost what little gain she had made on keeping her hands from shaking. Qrow couldn’t quite shrug off his niece, face softening as he saw what Ruby was trying to share silently. He had undoubtedly been deep in a bottle before Blake found him and he had to squint to focus on Pyrrha’s face. Without a word, Qrow continued into the crowd, the sharp sting of cheap liquor piercing the air even in his absence. How he was even remotely an effective hunter while that drunk was beyond understanding and Pyrrha wasn’t going to take the time now to contemplate it.

“Where’s who?”

Weiss’ tone, although entirely uncalled for, was a shaky connection back to reality and Pyrrha held onto the shrill familiarity. It was too dangerous to talk here and, even when she got them away from the Great Hall and the potential to be overheard, what would she possibly say?

“Pyrrha, what happened?”

Jaune’s concerned voice was too much and Pyrrha felt her resolve to recover crumble. Her eyes filled with tears again and Weiss took her hands from her hips to reach out to Pyrrha with open arms. Together, they hugged their classmate as she began to cry, partly out of nerves and partly because she had to buy herself as much time as possible before she had to find words to explain away what truly happened. In less than a day, she had been shouted at by some of the most powerful hunters on Remnant and done some long overdue shouting of her own. Her training and consideration as a future host for the powers of a goddess had been negated and then reinstated. The confusion and whiplash of Ironwood’s loyalties and Qrow’s deep-seated mistrust still nipped at her. She had finally reconciled the ethics of her feelings for a romance she never expected and at last made peace with the changes in her life that spun her to this moment here in Beacon Academy in the arms of her friends. Cinder threatening her beloved Aunt May was too much. Her self-imposed ignorance got the best of her and she cried from anger. Ozpin, at the very beginning, promised her nothing but the truth at her request and then she never requested more than an ounce of truth in return. She rarely rebutted the half an ounce of honesty she received, as it was. She cried in fear for her aunt.

She knew that, in the few seconds she had been crying, it would be one of the last times for tears.

The crowd around them hushed in an all-too familiar vein and Pyrrha looked up from where she was quickly staining Jaune’s uniform blazer. Ironwood was one of the last people she expected to see in front of her in this moment and she needed to blink to clear her eyes several times before confirming it was none other than the cold General who had given her little cause to trust him anymore. In light of the knowledge he was as guilty as her cousin in the crimes he committed against others, having just watched him glower at the front of the room during Ozpin’s speech, Pyrrha had no desire to see him, much less at one of her weakest moments.

“Come with me, all of you,” he addressed the small group, ignoring the stares from the students around them. “Your assistance is required.”

“But we haven’t even had dinner yet,” Ruby muttered, scuffing her boot against the floor even as she admired the General’s uniform.

“Immediately,” Ironwood added, turning briskly and parting his way through the crowd without a word. Atlas Academy students snapped to attention as the General passed, the commander making his way to the front of the room where he had just recently stood with Ozpin and distinguished guests. Clearing his throat, he addressed the crowd with a smooth and authoritative voice.

“Take your seats as dinner continues to be served. Curfew will be enforced at regular hours for Haven, Atlas, and Beacon students. Shade Academy, you will adhere to the host school’s rules of curfew and out-of-bounds limits for the evening.”

Several students from Vacuo dared protest Ironwood, astonished that, after weeks of no limits and full access to Vale at all hours of the day and night (having no such curfew rules at Shade), they would be forced to accept the sudden imposition of a newly arrived (albeit intimidating) Headmaster on his school’s very first day of attendance. Seeing that the General was not going to correct the unfair ruling on their freedom, those students quickly quieted. Through the mutterings of those surprised to hear the new enforcement on the much-envied Shade Academy students, Yang found her way to where Weiss, Jaune, and Ruby stood near the tear-stained Pyrrha.

“What’s with Captain Cranky Pants up there?”

Weiss glared at Yang, shifting an unimpressed eyebrow high into her white bangs while the other leveled low over her scarred eye. Jaune snorted despite the seriousness of the situation and Pyrrha found herself smiling at his reaction; he was so predictably Jaune that she found the moment calming.

“Did Qrow come through here?” Yang asked, sniffing the air. “Or did we break out the stash meant for after the dance?”

As Ironwood wrapped his address to the students and stepped away from the stage, Pyrrha felt Weiss’ hand wrap around her own. The heiress guided Pyrrha quickly out of the Great Hall as students around them began to settle into their seats, Jaune and company following behind. Pyrrha glanced back to see the smiling, happy faces of classmates, students with no idea something was amiss, and she felt better knowing few had any idea what had happened to necessitate her sudden exit from the Welcoming Dinner. It was unlikely any had taken notice of Cinder and her counter with Pyrrha, unlikely anyone would remember a vile-smelling Impromptu Combat Instructor weaving his way through the students crammed into the grand stone room. Slowly reassured few had any idea what was going on, the vast majority of students without a clue that anything was wrong, Pyrrha felt her heart began to beat at a steady tempo once more.

_Where are you?_

She reached across the expanse separating her from Ozpin, seeking his familiarity to further wrap herself in security, before recoiling as abruptly as though she had been shocked.

Ozpin’s fury smothered her and she gasped, staggering as Weiss gripped her hand tighter in surprise. Jaune grabbed Ren and Norah on their way out of the Great Hall, Norah clutching a plate of food she had taken off someone’s just-served table as Ren pulled her along after their team leader, and Pyrrha saw Norah’s electric blue eyes widen as Pyrrha stumbled.

“We need to get to Blake,” she gasped, finding her feet and now dragging Weiss behind her by the hand as the rest of her classmates followed hurriedly. Pyrrha led them through the pillared hallways, through the grand front entrance, and down the long expanse of the center courtyard to where Ironwood’s ships gleamed in the sunset on the large expanse of landing pad. More than one of Pyrrha’s classmates remembered this was the girl who outran a Death Stalker their first year, was one of the most physically capable huntresses at school, and routinely chided them for not keeping up with their exercise regimes.

“Pyrrha!” Yang called as she caught up with the huntress, Weiss and Ruby followed closely by the rest of Team JNPR. “What in the-“

“Blake’s here,” Pyrrha said, assessing Ironwood’s ships for which would most likely hold her friend. “She’s been hurt.”

“Hurt? What? How do you know?”

Yang’s indignation at the idea of her teammate wounded was nearly drowned out by the roar of an engine as a nearby ship powered up suddenly. Weiss startled visibly.

“They only do this when they need an emergency takeoff, no pre-checks,” she said over the rush of air forcing them all to brace their footing on the courtyard bricks lining the edge of the landing pad.

“What’s going on?” Ruby cried, Norah’s dinner plate flying through the air and nearly striking Ironwood as the General sprinted up from behind them and led the way to the airship beginning a gradual ascent, foot by foot, as its landing gear retracted into the sleek body. Weiss and Pyrrha followed, everyone else making the jump into the vehicle without question and only Jaune struggling to climb aboard before the doors snapped shut on the wind threatening to pull them from the hold.

Mech and armed guards watched impassively as Pyrrha and her teammates looked to Ironwood as he quickly consulted with the Specialist overseeing the ship.

“If Blake is hurt and here on the ship, she’s in the med bay,” Weiss said, starting down a brightly lit and sparse hallway leading off the cargo hold. Norah, Ren, and Jaune seemed uncertain to follow, glancing at Ironwood as the General continued a hurried and hushed series of orders to the grizzled, war-wounded Specialist. Yang set off after Weiss and Pyrrha without question, Ruby following closely behind.

“Why would she be here? What happened?” Ruby asked, Yang’s attention unwavering on Weiss’ bobbing ponytail as the heiress led them down the corridor. Pyrrha couldn’t find her voice, focusing entirely on Ozpin’s anger that led her like a beacon in all its terrible intensity. Whatever happened to cause all this, it wasn’t a scratch. To take flight and leave the school meant security concerns, a need for escape, and yet Pyrrha knew Ozpin would never allow the school to go unguarded while he sailed above in safety.

As they ran through the corridors, Weiss leading them through the ship with all the familiarity of home, they all smelled the bite of cheap liquor riding on the otherwise stale, sterile air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got nothing to say except Blake ending up hurt and on an Atlasian airship happened without me really knowing it was going to happen. I'll make the popcorn.


	30. Chapter 30

Antiseptic tubes and gauze littered the floor surrounding the gurney where Blake lay unwillingly, a medical assistant inadvertently kicking aside an empty container as he struggled to restrain the dark-haired huntress. In the impersonal clinical space quickly filling with concerned teammates, Pyrrha saw Qrow shuffled into a corner, head down and eyes watchful as Blake continued to fight the assistant’s sedation. Out of instinct, horrible visions flittering behind her eyes as her hands recalled the memory of his near-death, Pyrrha scanned Qrow’s torso for rips or tears through the smears of blood, convincing herself he was without injury before he said a word.

Blake was not so fortunate, as obvious by the tatters of skin on her left arm and leg. Red blossomed across the white bandages where the medic had wrapped what he could before Blake struggled through the first rounds of pain killers and sedatives to find her fight again. The huntress continued her thrashing even through the assurances of her classmates, but it was though she didn’t know or didn’t care they were in the room. Determined to leap to her feet, Blake elbowed the assistant hard in the face, catching him in the mouth with her torqued elbow, and Weiss covered her mouth to stifle the gasp as the medical assistant stabbed a needle deep into Blake’s side. The plunger expelled the violet contents and Blake slumped without a sound. Jaune, Norah, and Ren hung back in the doorway while Ruby patted Blake’s knee, the medical assistant frowning.

“It took three of those,” he said, exhausted and wiping at a bloody busted lip. “Usually it takes one, maybe two for some people, but three anesthetics? What’s this girl got in her?”

“That’s our Blake,” Norah quipped uncomfortably, unsure and insecure in the moment. “She doesn’t stay down. Except, like, right now. After three of those icky needle things, apparently.”

“Uncle Qrow, what happened?”

Ruby’s quiet voice, tinged with worry, crossed the room to where Qrow shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looked over the top of Ruby’s head to catch Pyrrha glancing between the hunter and her dear friend slumped on the gurney. He quirked an eyebrow in a silent prompt as Pyrrha began to shuffle the pieces together. Undoubtedly, this had something to do with Cinder and her threat against Blake’s inquiry into the Black Fang’s partnership with Torchwick and Pyrrha’s opportunistic cousin. The red-haired huntress had too many thoughts running through her mind to do anything stare at Blake, gently placing her hand on her classmate’s ankle and taking in the damage with a sense of panicked awe that something so severe could have happened within the space of minutes.

Weiss crossed the room to Qrow, hands on hips in such a resemblance to Cinder that Pyrrha winced.

 “Would you care to share what my teammate is doing on my sister’s ship?”

“This isn’t your sister’s anymore, remember?” Qrow said as he leaned back against the wall, propping a foot up against the cold metal panels behind him. “Ice Queen has a school to run now. Chuckles is in command of few things but one of them is the ship.”

Before anyone could ask who Chuckles was, the grizzled veteran last seen with Ironwood made his way through the gaggle of students in the doorway, his one good eye glaring at them all. The man was tall and gruff, missing chunks from his face as though each Grimm he fought throughout his life had taken a chunk of him with them on their way to ashes and dust. He moved stiffly on one of his legs and they all caught a gleam of Atlasian military-grade metal at his wrists as he pushed Jaune and Ren out of his path.

“Students aboard my ship without permission,” the Specialist growled, the empty socket of his stolen eye causing Jaune to cringe in revulsion. “What nonsense is this? I should throw you all off right now, without landing, regardless what the General has to say about it.”

“Hey!”

Weiss twisted her lips and narrowed her eyes at the Specialist, unhappy with her inclusion in his assumption they were all a gang of no-goods who decided on a pleasure cruise without invitation. The Specialist’s sneer in return let them know what he thought of another member of the Schnee family boarding his ship so recently acquired from the eldest daughter.

“Your sister took that tone with me once,” he replied disdainfully, drawing himself up authoritatively.

“She took your eye, too, didn’t she?”

“Spoiled brats of the Dust fortune. Both of you.”

The heiress, unimpressed, turned her back to the Specialist now in command of the ship Weiss knew so well, deeming him an unworthy opponent and letting her classmates know there would be no more arguing with someone worth less than her sister’s time. The tension as the gruff soldier found his next words confirmed Winter had indeed taken her payment from the man who must have tested her for command in the past.

“General Ironwood wants all of you on the conference bridge, immediately,” Chuckles barked, turning on Norah as she shied away from the man’s spittle. “None of this running around without clearance nonsense.”

The fact Weiss had had no problems with the mechs and guards as she led them to the medical bay let them all know that her sway on the ship still held weight and she had the good grace not to smile too broadly as she gestured for the Specialist to lead the way. No one moved, however, and Qrow rolled his eyes to find most of the students looking at him for direction.

“What happened?” Ruby asked again, still patting Blake’s knee as her teammate lay bloodied on the gurney.

The medical assistant continued cleaning and bandaging Blake’s arm where it looked like knives had filleted her flesh from muscles, her leg webbed with grey tatters of once creamy white skin. A stab wound was evident near her hip. Dirt ground into the exposed tissues from where she slid across the ground with enough force to leave scrapes on nearly every bit of skin she had left. Her eyes were already blackening and a cracked tooth splintered behind her bloody lips. Whomever fought her had no intention of following any rule of combat and instead aimed for as much damage possible. Whoever her attackers were, there was a vendetta against Blake to ensure this fight left her in pain.

“We obviously had some unwelcome visitors at Beacon,” Qrow stated grimly, speaking pointedly across the entire group to focus on Yang as his blond-haired niece hung back in the opposite corner of the room with wide eyes. Yang stood with silent tears running down her cheeks, never taking her eyes from Blake’s battered form this whole time, and her eyes threatened to rage red. Of Team RWBY, Blake was Yang’s yin, the constant cheer to counter Blake’s silent perspective. While Weiss and Ruby bickered, the other half of the team solved problems. While Yang got herself into trouble, Blake got her back out of it. Pyrrha’s heart squeezed as she saw the quiet horror Yang kept under control only because she didn’t seem to quite accept that it was Blake herself resting on that gurney.

“I’ll explain what I think I’m allowed to,” Qrow finished, kicking off the wall and grabbing for his flask within an inner jacket pocket. “Lead the way, Chuckles.”

The Specialist snarled quietly to himself, unwilling to lose any more fights at the moment but assuring them all with a final furious glance that he was confident Qrow only stood because of his own mercy on the slovenly hunter.

“I- I think I’ll stay here,” Yang stammered, the words forced out through heavy lips. “If she wakes up, she’ll need someone she knows.”

“General Ironwood orders you-“

In a second, Qrow had the Specialist pinned against the wall next to Yang, the metal paneling crumpled under the force of the blow. Everyone saw the man raise his arm to grab Yang, about to force her to comply, and no one sympathized as an inadvertent slip of a pained moan escaped the haggard soldier. Qrow would defend any one of them but there was a whole separate level of punishment for anyone who crossed between Qrow and his nieces. Qrow leaned to whisper harshly in the Specialist’s ear and Chuckles croaked a brief apology to Yang, the young woman hardly hearing it as she continued processing that her best friend was missing part of her left hand.

Pyrrha felt Ozpin’s anger tinge with impatience, his frustration mingle with the awareness someone’s ineptitude was the cause behind an unforgivable delay. The red-haired huntress put a hand on Qrow’s shoulder, reminding him they did indeed have a need for action without further delay, and the hunter shoved the Specialist back into the man-shaped dent as he stalked from the room. The students followed, Ruby gripping Yang’s hand and offering a loving smile before joining Jaune back down the narrow hallway. Weiss hurried to join Qrow and steer them the right direction but not before Pyrrha caught her arm.

“Weiss, may I borrow your scroll?”

 

\-----

 

Aunt May didn’t have a scroll of her own, or a visual communications system of any kind, and preferred the old fashioned and unreliable form of handwritten mail. The nearest neighbors, closer to town than to May’s house itself, were a kind couple who took an interest in Aunt May’s well-being and ensured any pertinent information or emergency messaging got to the woman quickly. One of the men was a tradesman and made beautiful tack and riding blankets for the mounts of hunters and huntresses. The other gentleman tended beehives and sold the honey and wax in town. Before he met his husband and left his high-powered career in the city, he had been a leader in technical support for the Cross-Continental Transit Tower in Mistral.

After Pyrrha spent her first year away at Haven Academy and half her letters never arrived, Aunt May allowed the men to cobble together an extremely basic device from discarded remnants of communications machines the technician still tinkered with from time to time. It allowed Pyrrha to electronically write and the machine would print the message for May to read. It was a fairly elegant solution that kept the men from having to trek across acres of farmland in their aging hauler every time May had a message but it came with one problem: Aunt May never left it running and only turned it on to check for messages from Pyrrha.

There was no telling when Aunt May would turn on the machine next and Pyrrha could only remember part of the digital address to reach her neighbors but she did manage to type a quick message on Weiss’ scroll to Auntie May, telling her there was an emergency and she should stay in town with an acquaintance until Pyrrha was able to get home. The huntress felt her heart race with anxiety as she tried to calculate how quickly Cinder could reach Aunt May in the far fringes of Mistral. As far as she was aware, only Ironwood’s ships could cross the continents so quickly as to arrive in a matter of hours. It was almost a full day travel by train and, unless Cinder had access to a light transport and skilled pilot, Pyrrha had time to ensure Aunt May’s safety.

 _Already done_ , Ozpin replied unbidden, almost flippantly in his impatience. Pyrrha felt her indignant response from her gut before sharing the relief she felt in her bones and Ozpin’s frustration bore on her before he reined his own emotions.

_Do you think I would allow your family to come to harm? A personal guard from Ironwood’s own retinue left immediately after the near slaughtering of one of my students. Your aunt may be the safest person in Mistral._

_I need to be there_ , Pyrrha shot back across the chasm of their bond. _I need to be sure-_

 _You never be sure of anything,_ he interrupted her and she felt his grip on his cane tighten in response to controlling is tone as they came the closest to a fight as they’d ever had since he tried to send her away to Atlas. _We have done what we can and the guard will fly her to safety if they believe there is the slightest chance of danger. In the likely case of a purely empty threat, one of Ironwood’s best guardsmen will no doubt enjoy their holiday watching over your aunt. Now, Ms. Nikos, I need you here to focus on your responsibilities._

Pyrrha pinched her lips together and forced herself to stare at the back of Norah’s head as the students rounded a corner of a corridor leading beyond the medical bay and to the rear control room of the ship. As much as she wanted to disagree with Ozpin, to argue with him and be sent away on Ironwood’s fastest personal cruiser to do nothing but watch for Cinder at the front step of Auntie May’s house, she knew he was right. But while she came up with numerous possibilities of ensuring Auntie May would be protected, everything from leaving during the Vytal Festival to go home or convincing her aunt to come stay in Vale for the tournament, Pyrrha knew May likely wouldn't be convinced to visit Vale for an impromptu vacation and would be overly worried if Pyrrha showed up when she was supposed to be in school. Her tears on first sight at their reunion during her winter holiday had concerned Auntie May as it was. She wondered what the guard would say to convince her dear aunt that this wasn't all some prank. She thought of how sad Auntie May would feel to know one niece was in danger and the other was responsible. She could only hope May would turn on her message machine sooner than later.

She only vaguely heard Qrow talking up ahead of the group as Weiss led the way behind an armed mech, the hunter filling in what some of the teammates didn’t know about Qrow and Blake scouring Vale most nights for any sign of the Black Fang and their associates. Ruby and Norah whispered between themselves as Jaune and Ren came to understand Blake’s involvement was her personal connection to the terrorist faction of the White Fang and not connected to Pyrrha’s disappearances for private lessons. She realized, tuning into the conversation to better block out Ozpin’s energy that disarmed her own nerves, that she might not have to lie any longer. Ozpin could tell them everything, explain Pyrrha was training to harness a power that could save the world from evil, and she could exonerate herself from the guilt of hiding all this from them once and for all.

 _The secret must be our own for a little while longer_ , Ozpin cut through her distraction, nearly a reprimand. _Your classmate could have died today. Her teammates deserve the truth as to why but not necessarily the catalyst to Cinder’s involvement._

 _Their lives are in danger whether or not they know about the Maidens,_ Pyrrha replied bitterly, the last to enter the formal stateroom behind her classmates with Chuckles limping along behind her to stand guard at the door.

Along the far wall, cutting a sharp silhouette, stood Ozpin himself. He only nodded once, an acknowledgement of her dissent that promised neither compromise or accommodation. The huntress saw his tension in the way he held his cane, in the grim expression that shared his disappointment in the evening’s events, and Pyrrha knew what he chose to share with the others would be nothing but a scratch of his own true emotions.

The room was quiet as everyone took a seat along the richly polished table with inlaid technology the likes of which Pyrrha had never seen. How many laws had been made (or broken) in this room? How many times had Ironwood met with dignitaries, businessmen, and influencers to decide on changes that would influence kingdoms long after their tenure as decisionmakers? The Headmaster’s silvery hair was backlight by the vivid digital display, the entire wall fed by cameras mounted on the ship to give a windowlike appearance of the world below. The effect was disorienting and Norah and Ren looked to each other, checking in to be sure of one another, much as they did during challenging combat exercises.

Everyone in the room was a hunter or huntress and they each felt the tension of preparing for battle in a room where different types of fights were won or lost. Only Weiss seemed capable of handling the tension with any kind of familiar grace and many watched her for cues as Ozpin stood silently at the front of the room. Qrow dismissed Chuckles with a wave of his ringed fingers and the Specialist held the door open and at attention as Ironwood strode in, the General just as grim as the Headmaster. As the students collectively held their breath for information, only Qrow seemed to dance along the edge of the blade of tension without being cut to ribbons, taking a moment to fiddle with the controls on the table and pick at the padding of his chair with false impression of impressed.

“Ms. Belladonna was attacked outside of Beacon Academy earlier this evening,” Ozpin began, the coincidence of his just having given his first speech of the evening in the Great Hall not even an hour ago not lost on anyone. How much had changed in just a short amount of time?

“There is a young and troubled woman who is directly related to the death of our professor and friend, Glynda Goodwitch,” the Headmaster continued, finding the portions he wished to share of the complex and convoluted story of how this all came to be.

Pyrrha listened as intently as the others, trying not to glance at Qrow when Ozpin avoided mention of the Maidens. Ozpin didn’t necessarily lie but skillfully insinuated blame on the Black Fang where Cinder’s motives were concerned. No mention whatsoever of the powers that hummed low in sinewy song from their prison nearby. Nothing as to why Pyrrha was involved beyond that Cinder was her blood family and her help was needed in pursuit of this relative with a streak for violent crime. It was a hollow and meaningless explanation to Pyrrha, even as the huntress understood the need for her classmates to stay uninvolved when it came to the thing that set this all off in motion to begin with: the capture of a Maiden-spirit and Pyrrha’s selection as a test subject to contain these powers.

“Cinder’s companions are a green-haired thief with a penchant for slight-of-hand and a young man whose father was a renowned but ill-regarded assassin,” Ozpin shared with the students who sat rapt in disbelief that their friends and classmates were caught up in such a scheme as to personally fight against terrorists known across Remnant. “When Cinder confronted Ms. Nikos, Blake went to retrieve Qrow from where your professor was dallying in Vale.”

“She didn’t need to go far,” Qrow said, leaning back in his chair and running a ringed hand through his greying hair. “I met her on the path to Beacon. We ran to the Great Hall and tried to find Cinder in the crowd, thinking we had her trapped between the two of us. Blake stayed on the entrance path to Vale while I searched the front of the school grounds, and the girl grabbed Blake while Cinder slipped by. I only found Blake when she screamed out and we heard her, Oz and I.”

Raised eyebrows from nearly every student at the table demonstrated the surprise of their Headmaster fighting crime alongside their teammates.

“Ironwood’s ships were close,” Qrow finished, entirely truthful from what Pyrrha knew of the otherwise deceitful and reckless hunter. “It would cause a scene to bring her where other students could see her. Every parent would have their student on the next transport home if they thought there was danger at Beacon."

“Where is Cinder?” Jaune asked, the only one to address Ozpin directly since the Headmaster began the sorry tale that wove the Black Fang as the centerpoint to the whole mess. “What happened to Pyrrha’s cousin?”

The Headmaster watched Jaune carefully under his silver shock of hair, as though studying the boy while the room held a long breath.

“She got away.”

No one was convinced of Ozpin’s truthfulness and Ruby and Weiss glanced at Pyrrha as though asking for her to confirm their suspicions. Pyrrha refused to say anything, having already shared what she could contribute of Cinder’s threat against their Aunt May and Cinder’s desire for Pyrrha to leave her alone while she caused chaos at the Vytal Festival on behalf of the Black Fang. Even Ironwood seemed to pause for Pyrrha’s answer to the unspoken question: are you going to let him convince us?

All the huntress did was stare at the table, thinking of how this went entirely against her ethics and morals to sit and allow someone to lead her friends astray. Now how many of them would seek out the Black Fang in retribution for their attack on Blake? Who would be the next to get hurt? By keeping them in the dark about the larger threat, how many would stumble into danger without knowing the bigger scheme?

“Why did you let her go?”

Pyrrha looked Ozpin in the face, defiance and fear fighting for priority against respect in how she addressed her Headmaster. He had too much experience to be taken off guard by her question. Perhaps, she thought ruefully, he could sense her attempt to push back against his lies before she even opened her mouth. Maybe nothing she did would take him by surprise and he simply allowed her the illusion of privacy as she went about her life. The curious glint in his eye, though, confirmed otherwise. He expected her to speak up.

“Cinder reports to a mistress of her own,” Ozpin slowly explained, directing his answer to Pyrrha while the others looked on. “Your cousin is but a pawn to an extraordinarily powerful force that threatens our peace and prosperity on Remnant. There are powers that can stop this, or at least halt it in its progression, and it is imperative that Cinder is allowed to report on what she knows from her infiltration of Vale and Beacon Academy.”

The huntress glanced at Qrow, who kept his head bowed, and the General did not meet Pyrrha’s eyes. They knew what he spoke of and Pyrrha felt her anger start to rise again like it had in Ozpin’s study that morning. She wasn’t too naive to know she had the right to know and she berated herself yet again for allowing the comfort of ignorance to steal over the potentially life-saving need for whatever information she could gather.

“Is this why we’re in the air instead of back at Beacon? Are the other students in danger?” Ruby asked as she looked from Ozpin to Qrow, her uncle watching his dark-haired niece with a patience reserved only for those closest to him.

“Cinder and her counterparts wouldn’t dare attack Beacon directly,” Ozpin explained without rush, nearly kindly. “Everyone in the school is as safe as can be. Ms. Belladonna was unfortunate to find herself beyond the safety of the school when her assailants waylaid her. Help would have surely come sooner had the attack happened within school walls.”

“We are fortunate to find the security of the Vytal Festival in the capable hands of James Ironwood,” Ozpin continued, a slight change of tone incurring his warning as well as his compliment. “Our good General will continue to place the safety and well-being of every person attending the festivities as his topmost priority, especially Tournament attendees and participants. Our aerial isolation will last only until the General can confirm changes have been made to ensure these securities have been appropriately communicated to his staff.”

“We’ll need to delay the stadium’s arrival until my men can check everything through once more,” Ironwood shared in response as he typed out orders on the integrated technology in the table. His mechanical hand rapidly flipped through a series of screens as he delegated tasks to Specialists and their teams. “The final preliminaries will need to be cancelled and the opening festivities postponed while this is accomplished. We should consider sending students home to their own academies while we delay-“

“They’ll be much safer at Beacon, I can assure you,” Ozpin interjected, assuring Ironwood would do no such thing. “We will not delay any portion of the Vytal Festival.”

Weiss handled the side-glances admirably as she shut her mouth, having been prepared to interject on behalf of her hard work.

“When General Ironwood has ensured his communications have not been intercepted or interpreted by those for whom they were not intended, we will land and Ms. Belladonna will be moved to the care of our excellent school physicians. Until then, please dote upon her quietly and respectfully as you take advantage of the hospitality an Atlasian warship has to offer seven able-bodied and easily bored teenagers. As you have missed dinner and fine company, feel free to find your own while aboard. Ms. Nikos, if you would stay behind for a moment?”

Recognizing the dismissal as her opportunity to dash for her sister and teammate in the medical bay, Ruby was the first to leave in a rush, Jaune close on her heels. Weiss nodded respectfully to Ironwood, who returned the action without his mechanical prosthetic ever breaking pace as he continued his work. Ren and Norah followed Weiss out of the room, the freckled huntress-in-training booping Specialist Chuckles on the nose as she passed him where he lurked in the hallway.

Ironwood waited until the lock on the door sounded before addressing Ozpin in a nettled tone.

“Your implications that I cannot keep my own students safe inside an arena built for this very purpose-“

“Give it a break, Jimmy,” Qrow countered, pocketing his flask only to pull it back out immediately. “Oz is right. Whatever business they brought to the school won’t stop there. They got in and they did it without detection. So much for your security.”

“What uniforms did they wear?” Ironwood asked Pyrrha without glancing up from his inlaid console, Pyrrha too wrapped in Ozpin’s silence to care about Qrow’s bicker with the General.

“Haven Academy,” she answered, hearing Qrow mutter a vague insult against Headmaster Lionheart. The red-haired huntress didn't see how any of this was the responsibility of Haven Academy but it seemed the old crow had something against nearly everyone on Remnant and nearly all of them his own personal doing. She had better questions to ask than what imagined slights had ruffled Qrow's feathers in regards to anyone outside this room.

Pyrrha watched Ozpin as he rose from the table to stare at the screen along the wall, the disorienting view of the City of Vale from above lending to Pyrrha’s own disorientation at what just happened. Light gleamed off the rims of his glasses and every bit of metal he wore shone in the creamy vanilla light. Late-day splendor lit across the screen, catching in Pyrrha's eyes as Vale spread below them; a full yet deceptively sleepy city from so high up, she knew it hid every dark soul she had come across in the last few months and its beauty was marred now that the veil of innocence had been lifted. She knew of criminals, of wrongdoers and those who preferred the blurry edges of deviancy, but she had never actually come across someone who actively wished her or her loved ones harm. And now it came from within her own family.

_Why have you not told me about who Cinder answers to?_

Pyrrha asked her question as a low tone across their connection, feeling her aura slip over her as nothing more than a wisp as she insisted on Ozpin's attention. Acutely aware of the fact she had spent most of her day in a room with these three men, she was quite through with meetings and dramatics. She just needed Ozpin's answer.

_You do know of her. I shared her story with you._

_You're being cryptic again,_ she responded, furrowing her brows. _I thought Cinder was after the Maiden-powers for the sake of power itself. You said she’s trying to collect it for her mistress? Who is this woman?_

Ozpin’s heavy silence inflected his need for thought and Pyrrha felt him sift what he felt she needed to know and sift that once more through his own need for secrecy. In these moments, Qrow watched Pyrrha sit patiently and observe Ozpin with a calculating and expectant eye, and she looked over at the hunter as soon as Qrow himself looked down at the dried blood on the cuffs of his jacket.

“Thank you for saving Blake,” Pyrrha said softly across the table, giving Ozpin more time to determine how best to answer her questions. “She was tortured, wasn’t she?”

Qrow nodded, chipping at an invisible speck on the table with a fingernail. She saw him file away the sight of Blake as he found her as another reason to drink away the demons those memories create.

“They only had a few minutes, less than that, even. But it doesn’t take more than a few moments to do what they did. They weren’t going to kill her. They wanted her alive.”

“Cinder warned Blake needed to be more careful or Adam would get her sooner than later. She said Blake needed to stick next to you if she insisted on continuing to track the Black Fang in Vale.”

“It was as much a warning to us as it was to her.”

Ozpin turned his back to Ironwood to watch the wide view of Vale on the wall-length screen, a slight sigh slumping his shoulders as the electronic lights dashed across his pale complexion. Pyrrha knew Blake wouldn’t be allowed out with Qrow to scout Vale anymore, that much was assumed, but Ozpin’s unshakable faith in Beacon Academy’s security was confusing to the huntress – were they truly safe to continue the Vytal Festival as planned? 

_Take tonight to think on what you already know, carah. If you truly do not remember the answers to those questions, then I will tell you._

He stretched to her across the chasm of thought, a soothing warmth across her ragged edges, and she nearly scoffed at this as his delay in informing her in the things he promised he'd share. Pyrrha made a move to shake her head, to open her mouth and speak audibly, but catching the corner of his eye as he looked at her caused her to stop. There was sadness, undeniable and unmistakable sorrow in that gaze, and Pyrrha knew he meant everything. He believed she knew those answers and it unnerved her more than nearly anything could. The fleck of amber, near-hidden by the sharp cheekbone as he continued to keep his back to the room, softened for her as she looked away.

“39 years ago, I allowed the guard to be lowered on Beacon Academy,” Ozpin shared without turning as Ironwood’s fingers stopped their clatter. This was a story Ironwood knew first-hand and was indeed how he lost one of his hands, requiring one of his first prosthetics. Qrow quirked an eyebrow at the General as Ozpin shared a well-known story from a perspective few had heard from. 

“When the joint venture was made between Vale and Atlas to rid Mountain Glenn of Grimm in preparation for an urban expansion, I used the opportunity as a test of Beacon Academy’s defenses,” Ozpin said, continuing to gaze upon Vale. “When I am away from the school, my wards and protections remain. They are not the tax on my strength as they once were but the continual energy required to sustain those security measures would be difficult, if not impossible, for many. Should I ever be unable to protect Beacon, the physical battlements and number of defenders will determine the academy’s fate.”

The three seated at the table shuddered inwardly at the repressed memory of the terrible sense of vulnerability the night Ozpin let the guard down on the school, the success of the aural trance claiming the Headmaster of Beacon Academy from fulfilling the obligations he required of himself to ensure the school's protection. Although their secret flinching was the same, the reasons were as unique as the three individuals themselves and none of them would know how deep those unsettled waters ran through the others.

“Mountain Glenn was well-known for the unusual influx of Grimm to that region, a higher concentration of such creatures as anywhere else in the kingdom," Ozpin continued as the city continued daily life below them. "As Atlas had economic interest to invest in developing Mountain Glenn, Vale agreed if Atlas could provide a solution to the Grimm challenging the city borders. I arranged with their headmaster at the time to allow advanced students opportunity to invest time in their combat education, two schools combining efforts under the guidance of experienced hunters and huntresses to eliminate Grimm while providing a service to their respective kingdoms. Although portions of the experiment went terribly wrong, several of the positive aspects to the concept evolved to create the mentorship programs in place at Atlas, including allowing final-year students to shadow hunters for extended periods of time outside of the protection of school.”

Qrow winked at Pyrrha and she noticed Ironwood didn’t give a response to their exchange. The huntress realized Ironwood may not know of Winter’s dalliances with Qrow when he was one of those hunters providing such a service at Atlas. Ozpin turned ever so slightly, looking to Ironwood for permission to continue his tale, and the General nodded just once, having been waiting for the request.

“James was a student in his final year at Atlas Academy, a young man with a promising political career ahead of him,” Ozpin continued. “He was assigned to lead one of the teams under the instruction of a hunter who was slain in an unexpected onslaught of Grimm upon their encampment. The creatures may not have been so bold if I hadn’t removed the protections on Beacon. The stampede of Ursa was emboldened by the lack of barrier on a portion of the kingdom they had so far not been allowed to hunt. In the early morning light, James fought and led his fellow classmates admirably, but it was with limited success and they were forced to retreat back to the school. Everyone abandoned Mountain Glenn for what they believed was the safety of Beacon Academy but, without my protection, the school was nothing but stone and the mettle of hunters and huntresses unaware of their own potential.”

“People died that day,” Ironwood stated bluntly, flexing the fingers of his mechanical hand almost unwittingly as he recalled the fear that drew Grimm in greater packs. “We lost friends, instructors, classmates while you tested your defenses.”

“Surely you weigh the value of a life against the lives of many?” Pyrrha asked, curious as to the impassioned response of a man whose analytical and, at times, seemingly heartless decisions for the greater good of Atlas had been written in Remnant’s history.

“We were students,” he responded, addressing her with the weighted respect he greeted her with just that morning upon his arrival. “We were uninformed as to Ozpin’s plans to test the school security. We believed we were safe when we managed to make our way out of Mountain Glenn alive, believed we had respite at Beacon. We found this wasn’t so when the first Grimm followed us through the school doors.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Pyrrha asked, her unspoken question buried beneath her carefully neutral expression. She knew whomever or whatever Cinder reported to, it must have a darker heart beyond the twisted intentions of her cousin.

“As long as I am able to maintain the wards on Beacon Academy, students are safe,” Ozpin said, turning to face Ironwood as he answered Pyrrha. “If I am unable to continue supporting the protections on the school, others must lead them to safety.”

“I will not force those who want to fight-“ Ironwood began before Ozpin cut across him.

“As you said, James, they’re students.”

“When they know what they’re fighting for, they can make a choice.”

“They will not be allowed to come to harm.”

A pause echoed through the room louder than any gunshot or whipsnap, Ozpin repeating himself intently as he turned fixated on Ironwood.

“You will promise me you must do what you can to ensure they will not come to harm.”

Pyrrha felt herself shirk from the tension between Ozpin and Ironwood, the two headmasters determined to balance their obligations to the future of Remnant’s defenders with their personal morals without expense of one to the other. Ironwood stood from his seat at the end of the long table across from Ozpin, eyeing the silver-haired headmaster with careful consideration.

“Extreme effort,” Ironwood repeated himself from his outburst in the study, the pink of sunset starting to slice a streaky orange across the display as the sun set across Vale. “All this and for what? Your secrets? Extreme effort, Ozpin, and little to show for it.”

Ironwood’s gaze flicked from Ozpin to Pyrrha before he stood to leave the room and Pyrrha felt her disappointment echo from where she thought she had abandoned concerns and worries from the conversation in the study that morning. He was not a friend to her but a resource to Ozpin. His resources and influence were spent guiding the scientific and technical studies of this ancient power Pyrrha had only tasted to this point. Now, as the hour grew late both on one of the longest days of her life and the opportunities at hand, she saw Ironwood’s disenchantment with Ozpin break the surface of the fear he had for the great and terrible headmaster. She saw him turn his back, polluting his wariness with arrogance, and the General stopped at the door to address Qrow.

“We will land as soon as my men confirm the city is safe and our transmissions are securely confirmed. See that the students disembark immediately.”

Qrow and Pyrrha met each other’s eyes as the General left the room with his Specialist trailing after him, neither hunter nor huntress doubting James Ironwood’s finality with Professor Ozpin.

 

\--

 

Blake would stay on the ship in the medical bay overnight, sedated and allowed to heal without interference from prying eyes and whispers of the students and guests.

Although the medical assistant assured Yang that the fleet doctor would alert General Ironwood to any concerns and Blake was in very stable condition, the blonde was still reluctant to leave her friend’s side. In the uncomfortable minutes that stretched evening into nightfall, Teams RWBY and JNPR huddled together around Blake’s bed and said very little to one another besides reassurances and repetitive disclaimers of disbelief. Pyrrha felt tears prick her eyes, guilt heavy on her shoulders, as she stood in the back of the room and watched Yang hold Blake’s limp and heavily bandaged hand.

While a small portion of her racing mind knew this was not entirely the work of Cinder and her cronies, that the Black Fang had a mark out for Blake the moment she left the faction, it was still Pyrrha’s own cousin who brought those two torturers to Beacon. The green-haired girl and the assassin’s son would never have done what they did to Blake had it not been Cinder’s need to slip away back into the hives of Vale where things with stingers hid and sulked. She was tired of fearing for her friends, tired of being afraid they’d find out things they should have known to begin with, tired of not knowing how to share her burdens with them in a way that didn’t feel like a constant mess of tangled emotions. Pyrrha saw that weariness in Yang’s shoulders as she swung between red-eyed fury and violet sadness, saw her same exhaustion in Jaune’s face as he watched one of the most capable friends he had be torn to ribbons under a blade she wouldn't have survived had her demise been the goal. She saw her wariness in Weiss’ defensive stance as the heiress stood aboard a ship that was no longer her sister’s domain; in losing this, she lost another limited form of accessibility to Winter. In her sense of confusion, Pyrrha saw the confusion of others and didn’t know how she could possibly be forgiven for what she had brought upon them, even inadvertently, by keeping Ozpin’s secrets.

Ruby’s shining silver eyes swept over Pyrrha’s attempt at becoming small and unobtrusive. For being one of the tallest, most physically fit huntresses at Beacon, Pyrrha was nearly shrunk in on herself as far as her form would allow, an arm drawn to her side in a display of insecurity she’d never been able to shake. This was the rare side of Pyrrha she didn’t like others to see, didn’t usually demonstrate for all the confidence and capability she normally exuded. A bit of a know-it-all, a bit condescending in the most well-intentioned way, Pyrrha was the one who helped others become more than their own vision allowed them to see. She was the tutor, the gracious victor, the example of what the future of hunters and huntresses held for Remnant: a proud, kind, honorable person who could keep others from harm and show them how to defend themselves. This Pyrrha in the corner, hiding as much as she could behind Ren and Norah, with tears in her emerald eyes, was not the Pyrrha Ruby knew Blake would want to see. A small, pale hand reached to take Pyrrha’s gloved fingers, reaching past Jaune and brushing the reinforced fabric with the lightest touch.

“It was your cousin, wasn’t it?”

Pyrrha looked at Ruby, briefly unsure what her classmate meant, until she realized the room felt a little quieter without the chaotic gloom from one particular drunken uncle.

“I didn’t want you to be mad at me,” the huntress whispered, fearing to lose Ruby after everything that had gone on. “We had that fight in Vale-“

“I apologized,” Ruby interjected softly, voice pitching up into a sweet, high tone that likely got her out of trouble consistently with Yang.

“-and I don’t know how much Blake has shared with you all, when you went out on the training mission with Qrow the other night, but she doesn’t know much, either. She wasn’t with the night Qrow got hurt.”

Ruby thought for a moment, staring down at her combat boots while she continued to rest her hand over Pyrrha’s, the huntresses unable to meet the other’s eyes now that they were confirming what each suspected all along.

“I think I’ll want to know in the future,” the dark-haired girl said, “But I don’t want to know now. Right now, I only have room for Blake’s sadness. That’s what this fear and anger does, you know? Fills you up until you can either lie to yourself or go kick so much butt you’re too tired to think. I don’t like lies but I hate fighting even more. I can’t fight my friend. Why did you hide it from me? That your cousin was there with you when Qrow was hurt?”

“I wasn’t with her,” Pyrrha stammered, unsure how to say it all but letting the words fall out of her mouth. “I was training with Professor Ozpin and Qrow came to let us know Cinder was spotted in Vale. We didn’t even know she was working with the Black Fang then. I was with Qrow when he got hurt. It was the worst surprise, Ruby, seeing my cousin watch as Torchwick tried to kill Qrow, Ozpin hiding when he saw her. It scared me more than you can imagine.”

“You want nothing to do with her?”

“Not after what she just allowed those people to do to Blake! I- I don’t know, Ruby. I wanted to think she was bluffing, lying until I could help her find a way out of whatever she’s gotten herself into, but then I think back to when we were kids-“

Pyrrha couldn’t bring herself to continue, the distinct smell of antiseptic and linens reminding her too much of that guilt-ridden visit to Qrow’s room where he had just enough energy to play tricks on Winter. Ruby would like that story, she decided, but that would follow the full account of how the thought of leaving Ruby alone in the world was what convinced Qrow to grasp at his life and cling on tight. Ruby was right: now wasn’t the time. Now was Blake. Silent, studious Blake, who always had a book in her bag and a glower for the ignorant, wrapped in snowy bandages. That overwhelming sadness watching her classmate, and dear friend, heal herself from torturous wounds was truly enough to cause Pyrrha doubt that she should have ever kept the secrecy she was sworn to. If she had told them all what a danger her cousin was to begin with, maybe they would have known how dangerous Pyrrha was to them, too. She would have lost her hard-earned and longed-after friendships but Blake wouldn’t be here in this cramped recovery room.

“This isn’t your fault,” Ruby said earnestly, gripping Pyrrha’s fingers tight. “You can’t help who you’re related to. Cinder isn’t you and you’re better than her. You have all the good, Pyrrha, and that’s why you’re our friend.”

Nodding, choking back the tears that threatened to spill, Pyrrha found a smile for Ruby as Jaune and Norah each put a hand on their teammate. It didn’t absolve her from her guilt but did lessen the absolute misery she felt knowing all this took Blake from her opportunity to compete with her teammates, take in the sights and sounds of the Vytal Festival with her friends, and be a young student with the responsibilities of the world forgotten for a few short weeks. For all Blake had gone through before she came to Beacon, she deserved much better than what she received. Even though her aura was rapidly healing her body, it would be days before she could go without bandages, weeks until the wounds fully fused with new skin. There might be scars. She might act different, having been hurt so badly against the rules of fair engagement, and Blake had so few reasons to smile as it was.

But, perhaps, Pyrrha thought as she watched Yang brush back the ebony hair from Blake’s bandaged cheek, perhaps this would start something new. Maybe the positives would last longer than a smile, run deeper than a temporary break from responsibility. There was love in that room. Friend for friend, as Ruby held Pyrrha’s hand. Heart to heart, as Yang talked softly to Blake. Love to love, as Norah shyly glanced at Ren while the hunter-in-training pretended not to notice her fingers brushing his with every soft swing of her arm. It was painful but some growth was. Not everything was kind and cuddly and sweet, even if it was the right thing. If anything resembling fairness could come from this for Blake, Pyrrha hoped it would be to see the way Yang looked at her in health as she did this moment in sickness.

Her fear for Auntie May steeped in her heart like a thistled tea, her sadness and weariness gripping her nerves tight, the weight of the longest day bowing her. For a moment, brief but entirely concentrated, Ozpin leaned into the velvety void between them, and Pyrrha felt his whispered endearment. It didn’t infuse her with strength, nor give her the grace to forgive her cousin or Blake’s attackers, or even keep her from the selfish wish to just be back in her dormitory in her own bed for a long night’s uninterrupted sleep. It did sing through her like a clarion bell, his reverence of her bringing a fresh tear to her eyes as she shut them tight to better remember the call of his soul to her own. The reassurance that he was there with her, even when he couldn’t be physically present or entirely available, gave Pyrrha a moment of soothing peace at a time when she had no more to share with the world but her sadness.

 

\--

 

As stars pinpricked the gossamer mantle of sherbet-hued clouds, the Atlasian flagship touched upon the landing pad in front of Beacon Academy with seemingly no more weight than a butterfly upon a flower. It perched just as briefly, allowing all but one student to alight from the sleek body before rising back up to circle Vale for a night-long lookout over the city. A girl with strawberry hair walked arm in arm with her tall and quiet friend, a lanky boy clattering behind in mismatched armor. Three huntresses, hand in hand, paused to allow one of them a brief glance at the ship she’d never look for again with the same hope she used to.

A woman in shining gold armor followed closely, joined by the slovenly slump of a drunk man and the stiff form of a figure who leaned on a cane. He was without a limp to match the uneven rhythm the polished wood beat against cobblestones underfoot. One of them assured the red-haired huntress that he would make good on his oath to tell her the truth. The other scoffed at the idea that, after months of secrecy and limited transparency and repetitive promises that came to so little in the end, now was the time to come completely clean and have the truth still mean anything at all. What only one of them knew was how deep those secrets ran into the fabric of Remnant itself and why time was running out to share them with the future Fall Maiden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually planning on Chapter 30 to focus on something else entirely but Blake ended up on an airship and THIS DAY WILL NOT END OH MY GOODNESS PYRRHA HOW DO YOU ALLOW THESE MEN TO KEEP BICKERING I swear they all need to just hit each other and be done. 
> 
> Now that I've created the longest day ever, we can finally move on to actual answers, the stupid dance (which I don't even want to write because every stupid thing has led to something big happening that now will happen NOT at the dance), and some solid forward momentum (after the dance). Also, I thought someone wasn't going to make an appearance... now she's going to make an appearance. It isn't who you're thinking. Unless you're thinking sibling rivalry and red eyes. Then you'd be right.
> 
> If I ever edited this thing, or even plotted ahead more than a few lines at the bottom of the master .doc, it might be a little better. Eh.
> 
> (Also, Chuckles very much was an accident and showed up out of nowhere. I want him to holler, "Students out of bed! Students in the corridor!")


	31. Chapter 31

Team JNPR slept fitfully that night, the anxiety of their classmate’s injuries blending with the immature but nonetheless present rush of excitement that the long anticipated final qualifying round started early the next day. Norah’s snores even got on Ren’s nerves, the hunter-in-training stuffing tissues in his ears and burying himself deep under his pillow. Jaune kicked out in his sleep, startling everyone awake as his bed creaked just loud enough to cut through the slim façade of slumber. Pyrrha was near ready to abandon her dormitory bed for the one she knew was hers in the tallest tower of the school but she couldn’t bring herself to creep out into the darkness and make her way across a campus she no longer thought of as completely safe.

Recalling the earthy force and sheer power that shook its way through the stones and metals of Beacon Academy, Pyrrha thought of the night Ozpin retook the wards on the school. It was an easier thought to focus on, a memory to dissect, while her mind whirled through what Ozpin could possibly have meant when it came to her alleged knowledge of Cinder’s mistress. She muddled through the texts she’d read in Ozpin’s private study, snippets of information on aura and bits of history interwoven with the desire for his gaze and the touch of his hands. The desire and confusion simmered as coals in the heat of her fervent recollection of anything that would help her answer her own question and she knew it would be harder and harder to keep the rhythm of her recall from falling apart. Seeking a firmer platform to think upon, Pyrrha closed her eyes and tried to pull in the memory of the way the stones shuddered and metals shook as she lay in this very bed not so long ago.

She remembered the mind-numbing nausea, the distinct dislike of emerald-hued shadows and her confusion at what the aural trance meant between her and the unusual Professor Ozpin. She wondered what the school would feel like should he drop the wards again, relinquish the protection over them all without Winter’s well-placed glyphs to influence the basest beast to stay away. The Grimm must have known something was different, must have felt the uncertainty and worry in the air despite Winter’s work. Pyrrha thought of how Ironwood must have felt to find out his hand was collateral in an experiment he didn’t agree to when he expected Beacon to keep him safe after battling Grimm in Mountain Glenn. If that was so long ago and Ozpin had been Headmaster even then…

No two textbooks or histories could agree on an established date of installation for the silver-haired professor and Pyrrha didn’t quite buy his joke that he kept all the writers of such texts on their toes by giving them conflicting dates purposefully. Perhaps she would lose the intimacy they had gathered on this path to strengthen their soul-bond but she needed to push aside that fear in pursuit of the truth, even if she didn’t want to hear it, even if she had clapped her hands over her ears when it was convenient in the past. Her memories, even well-known and often-traveled paths of recollection, were hazed in a fog of fear and uncertainty and she opened her eyes with a sigh to distract herself with whatever her dormitory offered for curiosity

Norah’s dress, frilly and cotton-candy pink even in the dim light of the broken moon, taunted her from where it hung over the closet door. It was a reminder that tomorrow would bring a physically exhausting matchup against some of the best future hunters and huntresses on Remnant, another arena battle where the rules were made up and her aura points didn’t really matter. Another day to worry her aura levels weren’t going to look right under careful examination (it had taken nearly a week of intense practice to keep her energies from unintentionally pulling on Ozpin’s aura and spiking the readings). Another day to smile and respond kindly to people clambering for her attention because she was on broadcasts and in magazines.

And then, after all that, a ball. Where she would be attending alone because she thought she was going with Blake, neither of them wanting an escort and both planning on giggling in the corner during slow songs as they watched Jaune step on the feet of whomever he was dancing with and Weiss scaring away potential partners. Would Ruby have placed Blake’s dress away where Yang wouldn’t see it? Or was the violet-eyed huntress looking at that dress from her bed and feeling anything like how Pyrrha felt now?

Briefly, she reached into the chasm between her and Ozpin, finding little there to take comfort in. He may have been purposefully shielding himself from her, or perhaps she was struggling to connect with him the way she had when fear had muddled her capabilities when training. Although she could almost entirely carry the weight of their aural trance while training, it still wasn’t for long and didn’t leave her optimistic she could handle the fierce power that was the Maiden-spirit fragment trapped in Ozpin’s cane. He still hadn’t allowed her to touch it since pulling her from the Maiden’s song-trap and she wondered if she still needed protection from it. Even after all their hard work tuning their souls to one another, did Ozpin doubt her capability to fulfill this destiny?

Exhausted into slumber even through Norah’s snoring and Jaune’s spastic kicking, Pyrrha dreamed once more of a grass-swept valley surrounded by forests and lit with the light of an unshattered moon.

 

\--

 

Amity Colosseum hovered on the horizon, a speck stuck in the sky as though Pyrrha could scratch the mar off the grand window overlooking Vale. She stood silently, composed and focused entirely on the familiar weight of her weapons while Norah shimmied nearby. Doubles-teams would be a focus in the final qualifiers this year, according to the message all registered tournament participants received that morning.

Every festival brought something different to the tournament stage and, realizing maimed students and technical glitches within the programs running the arena made for bad broadcasting, the last qualifying matches became more of a practice run for the tournament than any actual merit-based judging. It was a time to assess the syndication and execution of any simulations the participants may have to face, an opportunity for the broadcast teams to analyze potential storylines and content opportunities, and a chance for everyone to get a good look at who would carry the winning bet. Gambling wasn’t a sanctioned activity for tournament shareholders but all kingdoms with represented students had those who rallied and cheered and paid up on debts owed after their favorites failed. Although it wasn’t officially allowed, representatives and delegates from kingdoms discussed amongst themselves who would likely be a crowd favorite and who would fall outside the lines of expectation, sending this information through the communications systems and expecting their share of the winnings to be paid out in expedience in return for their eyes and ears on the final qualifying match.

Sometimes the last qualifier was held in Amity Colosseum itself and other times the host school provided facilities within the host city. Beacon was the only school of the four to have a large enough venue within the school itself to accommodate a full roster of participants and adequate seating for attendees. As it was, the vacuous battle arena was bursting with noise and heat, distracting some of the doubles-teams lined up along the edge of the battle stage. Banners and screens flickered in and out of Pyrrha’s vision as she glanced around without moving so much as her chin, the huntress poised and confident on the outside while she calmed the troubled waters within.

Her tall form stood proud above the other women and most of the men, bright morning sun glinting off her armor and rippling through her long red hair. Her circlet flashed and the few who didn’t know Pyrrha Nikos whispered to anyone who would answer the question, “Who is she?” She was classically beautiful, the emeralds of her headdress no match for the vivid green of her eyes, and was classically strong. It was evident in her bearing, in the easy flex of lean muscle, in the quality of craftmanship her armor and weapons detailed to even a casual observer.

If there was an example of the ideal future of hunters and huntresses, many would pick Pyrrha as their torch. Oh, the Great War had broken free the chains of rigidness to embrace any and all aspects of creative individuality, but there was still a faint scent of societal ideal drifting across the classically-leaning kingdoms of Vale and Atlas. All cities encouraged innovation, thrived off idealistic goals, and provided quality opportunities for the best and brightest to shine out across Remnant, but Pyrrha’s gleaming golds and vibrant, victorious reds brought a sense of clarity to a world full of clashing colors and nearly obnoxious noises. Individuality was encouraged but authenticity was no less important: Pyrrha was not dressed for attention nor in uniform but had a sense of efficient comfort combined with traditional beauty that was far from typical of young students of the craft.

Norah continued her bouncing while Pyrrha casually glanced across the paired teams, both women ignoring the crowds as their opponents demonstrated their best. Some flexed and preened, others glowered, some made friends with nearby teams, and some just gape-mouthed at the scene around them. Pyrrha had no immediate inclination to believe what rumors were spreading about what challenges the Vytal Festival Tournament would provide this year, Jaune trying to helpfully offer what he’d heard from other students while Team JNPR ate an early breakfast together. She didn’t believe half of what was floating around them and instead kept her mind open to anything. Limiting herself before she even knew the reality of what she had to work with was never something that won her any battles in the past and she wasn’t going to start now. She found her strength in the familiar tension of preparation, the routine adjustments to her armor while dressing, and Pyrrha had no doubt Norah was more than capable of anything they would encounter together.

A hush fell over the crowd as mechanical blinds slid over the windows to create an eerie darkness across the battle arena. There was a flicker of bright light and a faint electronic hum before a large screen lit over the floor for the viewers’ reference, a few shifts to color and sizing as the technical teams coaxed new graphics and technologies into life. A faint blue line glowed at Pyrrha’s toes, all participants staged between that line and the attendees behind them, as everyone eagerly watched the main stage floor glow with hexagon tiles so thin and transparent she hadn’t noticed they were there to begin with. Pyrrha saw Weiss and Yang glance over at them, the steel-blue projections of light catching in Weiss’ eyes to make her the formidable ice queen of the battlefield rather than the whiny heiress some anticipated. The dark circles under Yang’s eyes were visible even from a distance.

As Teams RWBY and JNPR made their way from breakfast to the combat arena, Professor Port intersected them to ask Yang if she had qualms about participating in the tournament now that her doubles-partner was gravely injured. The red-haired huntress had nearly smiled when Yang lit into the man, raging in the middle of the hallway and causing quite the blockade to get into the battle stadium as no one wanted to find themselves in the crossfire. Pyrrha herself wondered if Yang was mentally fit for battle, looking for a fight in anyone who glanced her way, but Weiss would hold Yang together on the floor if Yang found herself straying too far into an emotional foray. Peter Port would never deny Yang and the blonde was allowed to compete, even if the chaos she caused earlier would have elicited a reprimand on any other day.

The soft ticking of a gigantic, unseen timer began to sound from all sides while two projected elements, one symmetrical with the other over the battlefield, began to rapidly flip between symbols. Pyrrha could make out a water droplet, a faint tree outline, a black space (a glitch?), a blank space (definitely a glitch), another tree, a mountain, a seashell… the possibilities spun on their suspended axis before slowing to settle on a final statement: One, a water droplet; the other, a mountain. Everyone had just enough time to guess what they meant before a series of projections and mechanical unfurlings began from the tiled floor inside the vast glowing ring of the battle arena. Pyrrha heard the gasps in the crowd behind her as the tip of a mountain formed in the middle of the floor, its peak cutting through the projected display above before the technicians shifted the display forward and out of the jutting stone. As every person began to marvel at such a firm and solid illusion of rock, a clap of thunder rolled through the building. If she hadn’t just seen the sun in a cloudless sky before the windows were covered, Pyrrha would have sworn a thunderstorm was approaching with the same quick intensity as yesterday’s fierce downpour.

“Distinguished guests! Hunters and huntresses! Any and all who join us for the final qualifying round of the Vytal Tournament! Never before has this Atlas military training technology been used in the public eye! This advancement before you is used to bring the finest soldiers to the farthest flung corners of Remnant without ever having to leave their kingdom! Now, in a rare treat, you’ll see the future of Grimm Hunters brought before you in a display of the unpredictable and downright dangerous!”

Professor Port’s commentary boomed out over the thunder, nearly comical as he let slip a few disdainful mutters over the papers he read from. While he offered mumbled suggestions to his script in an unseen technical booth, Doctor Oobleck’s rabbit-rapid dash provided less color and more play-by-play.

“You’ll see here how each combination of environments is randomly chosen for each team. The two elements may combine to create an entire ecosystem, or they may separate to split the field into equal parts of the selected elements, but all battles will have both selections represented regardless. A forcefield keeps spectators safe from the arena elements and any unfortunate weapons mishaps.”

The blue line at Pyrrha’s toes began to glow brighter, the intensity threatening to blind her if she looked directly at it, and she knew it caught her in the same sharp shadows as those around her. It created menacing shapes, figures with pieces cut away into darkness, as some students suddenly seemed weaker or stronger than they initially appeared in the daylight. The effect did nothing to help Pyrrha’s sudden surge of nerves but she willed herself to think of the blue as that of Winter’s glyphs. They brought her former instructor her own strength, a rare Semblance for both battle and reassurance, and Pyrrha let the combination center her thoughts once more.

“Combatants will compete until all but one participant falls below an aura level of ten percent or until all but one forfeit,” Oobleck continued, Pyrrha having to strain to hear the words over another rumble of thunder. The intimidating effect was lost as the audio operator for the thunder effect rode levels too hard and dug out the resounding thunderclap under Oobleck’s tinny, breathless voice.

“Teams of four will bracket first. Only one member needs to remain above the required aura level to ensure victory, the team with all four participants failing to maintain their aura level to be eliminated. Pre-selected doubles will then bracket, the victor maintaining their levels above the other three to ensure their participation in the final round. While the student who maintains their aura level in the full team round does not need to be a pre-selected combatant for the doubles round, the victor of the doubles round will be required to submit to review by the Tournament Safety and Special Considerations Committee if they fell below ten percent aura in the first round.”

There were streams of whispers in the crowd, hissing and shushing as mention of the Tournament Safety and Special Considerations Committee sat poorly with bet-makers in the crowd. Stakesmasters hated the Committee and several tournaments in past years were believed to have been meddled with, the rules bent where it pleased stakeholders. The intention was to ensure the safety of students in reviewing discrepancies in battle while also refereeing any arguments over what was or wasn’t legal in tournament play. The outcome was occasionally too few rules to ensure a fair tournament and sometimes too many rules to make the competition interesting enough for participants and spectators alike.

As Oobleck continued, a stirring in the back of Pyrrha’s thoughts pulled her attention away from the competitors cast in strange shadows and the sliver of mountainous rock jutting through the grand vaulted ceiling. She felt Ozpin’s presence before she saw him, knowing him to be off to her right as he made a late entrance to the qualifying event. The fact he was in attendance surprised her, almost alarmed her, before the huntress considered he may be here to keep an eye out for Cinder or her companions.

_They wouldn’t dare,_ he shared simply, a grind to his tone that hinted at his taut intolerance for any further intrusion on his school, students, or guests.

_Why have you-_

_-come to attend?_  a hint of a rueful smile dancing now around his words. _You, of course._

_I hardly think I need protection in the middle of a room of people._

_Not for protection, carah. I would be a fool not to attend in person. You don’t understand the beauty in your form in action?_

She felt her face flush, the glow across her cheeks hidden by the sharp electric blue of the forcefield surrounding the stage.

He never shared such thoughts deliberately when they were separate, rarely ever allowing a slip of his inadvertent admiration catch her in her daily routines. She was not nearly as controlled as he was and yet never purposefully teased the professor. Pyrrha occasionally apologized with a slightly mortified air when she realized she was not the only spectator to her internal dialog regarding her fingers in his hair the prior evening in the study. She caught him catching her recalling the strength of his arms on the rare occasion he joined her and Qrow in combat training, her fascination cut short in the middle of what was supposed to be studying but devolved into daydreaming. He never judged her, and she swore he was still taken with surprise by her genuine interest, but he never teased back.

Now, he let her know on no uncertain terms that he was caught in the fascination of the light extinguishing her fiery red hair to vivid blue. The gems of her headdress threw back pinpricks of sparking electric current, her skin smoothed and muscles defined as shadows pressed around her. Rather than emphasizing the warm affection she always felt when he shared his thoughts of her, a sharp and sweet ache rattled through her suddenly hollow core. He denied her the satisfaction of knowing what distracted him until now, the huntress realizing the power and grace in her stance combined to make a figure too tempting to ignore.

For everything they purposefully shared, there were many emotions, thoughts, and feelings that slid underneath unintentionally; in this rare moment when their aural bond revealed Ozpins vulnerabilities, she could sense the newness in this vision of her, the continued and honest respect for her role as student mingled with a hint of a heavier sense of reverence for her station as Maiden-select. They suffocated under the pressing desire to place his hand at the base of her neck and wrap an arm around her waist to pull her tight against him and feel that blue soak away to leave the red and gold that had become synonymous with what he desired yet denied himself.

_We know what you’re capable of on the battlefield,_ he pressed, making his way through the standing spectators at the back of the room, catching glimpses of her as she looked for him. _We know how our souls resonate. What do we not yet know?_

She felt her breathing shallow out as she thought of the stolen moments in his study as she fit within the hollow of his neck and his hand fit around her own. The evenings where her stockingfeet fit against his thigh while reading. How his form molded to her own as he rested beside her in her bed; even with the propriety of the blankets between them, she wondered how he would rest between her knees, how his hips would fit against her own without any impedance between them. The room blurred before a swift inhale brought her back to the moment. The confirmation of his intent set her heart to break rhythm within her chest.

Throughout their time together, Ozpin maintained a nearly shy sentimentality that partnered well with Pyrrha’s own hesitancy. They kissed as beloveds would when parting, her fingers touching his in goodbye, their gaze lingering for a moment before returning to their separate lives as best they could with bonded souls. They developed a soft respect for the other, an orbiting familiarity, but both kept their passions in check. Pyrrha wondered if he had as much trouble as she did sometimes, reminding herself that trying to hide her curiosity and interest had once resulted in his belief she was uncertain of him as a chosen lover. Besides the rare evenings in his study, the only other time she was able to see past his own nearly inscrutable guard was in combat practice.

Twice he joined her since that first training session with Qrow and twice, hardly after the first full round, she felt herself tremble in want of him. This then became an extraordinarily uncomfortable time trying to focus on Qrow’s lessons. The headmaster himself stepped aside to sip at his mug and adjust his jacket while watching Pyrrha slip up with lack of focus and get herself thrown across the room. They were good-natured about it but she found herself wishing yet again to rewind back to the moonlight midnight before Qrow’s accident, knowing now that he desired her not because of what she could be but because of who she already was.

_This is- different. For us._

Pyrrha immediately wished she could take back her thoughts and savor the sensation of his full attention, even as she wondered if those nearest to her could see her blush under the blue haze around them.

_Would you like me to stop?_

Ozpin's footfalls were deliberate, steady, and thrilled her as Pyrrha watched him descend the stone stairs of the auditorium, his cane gripped in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. He understood her answer in the silence between them, her breathless answer hardly more than a whisper of her hair sliding over her shoulder as she turned her head with a smile forming across her lips. If he wanted to distract her, he would needle in on her thoughts, round out her sharp edges of thought to blunt her with his attention. This was different, purposefully so, and far different than the shifts in attention to remind her he was present and expecting her attention in return (as so she was occasionally prone to mentally drifting during their meditation sessions). Rather, she was a distraction for him.

She tasted the craving on the back of his tongue for her to lure him from his contemplation, the rare desire for company and crowds rather than peace and solitude. Carefully, Pyrrha weighed his heart and found his heavy energies beating through his body unwillingly, and his desire to interfere with that dark flow found root in attending the day’s festivities.

_Did Qrow find her?_

A dry glower lit through them as Pyrrha inadvertently shared a portion of her restless night where her own heart sought comfort from the presence of her friends while also craving resolution to the problem of her missing cousin. Qrow lit off into the dusky sky after walking his nieces and their classmates to their dormitories, warning them all not to get any brash ideas about searching for Cinder themselves. Ruby grabbed Crescent Rose and tried to rally Norah and Ren to join her but Yang’s slumped form dissuaded anyone from disobeying Qrow; Blake was lucky to have been found when she was and they might not have that luxury next time one of them crossed paths with anyone associated with Cinder.

_No, nor do I anticipate hearing anything yet this morning,_ Ozpin answered distractedly. Pyrrha felt his inward twinge of responsibility overcome a swift and passing annoyance at having to break from her to properly find his way through well-intentioned well-wishers impeding his attentions. He sat near distinguished guests, several of them standing to greet the headmaster while he nodded his amicable response, and she drifted from their connection as she realized the competitors around her were staring up at the projected display.

Each participant’s image flipped rapidly in random chance of selection, this round demonstrating one-on-one and following rounds to alternate between doubles and singles matches until everyone had entered the arena at least once. With several dozen teams, this promised to take most of the morning. In the quick shuffle of student photos, all collected from the applications of students upon their school’s vetting and approval of participants, Pyrrha saw the red blur of her hair as she was sorted in and out of first round selection. Slowly, the roving imagery ceased and revealed the first match.

Weiss’ small hitch of breath flew to Pyrrha’s ears as the heiress was the first picked. As she stood, carefully poised and haughty despite the surprise, Pyrrha saw her as the formidable opponent she truly was. Her battle-scarred eye was a badge of honor over an arrogant mouth and delicate nose, ice-blue eyes brimming with judgement and challenge even as they darted around at the challengers she could see despite the looming mountain cutting its course through the middle of the arena. Yet she was still a girl, a vulnerability evident in the flounce of her crinoline battle skirt and pastel lip gloss sparkling in the crisp blue light. Some at Beacon wondered continuously how Weiss was an effortless fashion icon of Atlas and they saw her briefly as her kingdom did: a girl on the verge of becoming as beautiful and talented as her older sister, a worthy head to bear the invisible but weighty Schee Dust crown. Pyrrha thought she was too young sometimes to have received as much notoriety as she did for her many tournament wins and championship victories but Weiss was born into fame and carried those pressures all her life. The burden of attention was no strange load to Weiss Schnee and Pyrrha felt a twinge of nervousness for whomever was going to have to try to take down the girl with a glistening sword.

Another participant was selected: a soft-faced boy from Vacuo whose huge mace was the only thing that lent him the authority he needed as a hunter-in-training. He looked easy to challenge, quick to defeat, and the crowd roared for Weiss. Pyrrha couldn’t see the boy from where she stood but, in watching other students of Shade Academy start to smirk and smile, she realized Weiss may not be the easy victor after all. The blue forcefield dropped to allow both participants to enter the arena, Oobleck and Port running commentary on each as Weiss shook the hand of the young man and he nodded back.

“As this is a demonstration round, the battle will end in either forfeit or at 50% depleted aura levels,” Oobleck stated, Port chuckling in the background about needing enough energy for the evening’s entertainments. Although nearly everyone at Beacon knew Port meant to only reference Weiss’ nearly unhealthy obsession with planning the dance, many other students from other schools and even some of the crowd jeered. At this, Pyrrha knew Weiss may very well prove a point purely motivated by spite and quickly drop the boy without losing more than a few points off 100% herself. Nothing was going to keep Weiss from the dance and Pyrrha stifled a grin thinking of Weiss stepping off the arena floor and directly into the dance hall, Myrtenaster at her side, to finish the decorating immediately after the qualifiers.

_You haven’t shared with me what you’ll be wearing this evening,_ Ozpin murmured in the back of her mind, starling Pyrrha more than if the mountain had started crashing down around them without warning. _Would you like me to guess?_

_What if I'm trying to focus on the competition?_

Her eyes widened as she felt him accept her rebuke and toss it aside, continuing his tease as the countdown ended and Weiss flew for first strike against the Vacuo boy. A clap of thunder overhead rumbled through the mountain and into the ground, shaking up through Pyrrha’s feet as the blue forcefield glowed even brighter when it negated the effects of Dust-blowback from Myrtenaster.

_This will not be difficult for you,_ he continued, dismissing her focus on the arena as he would a minor distraction. _You’re a favored champion for a reason, after all._

Pyrrha watched the fight on the projected screen above as cameras switched from impossible angles to cover the circumference of the mountain peak, Weiss gaining the high ground after striking right as Professor Port finished counting them down to begin their fight. The momentary stun cost the young man his bearings and Weiss launched herself farther up the mountaintop with a series of glyphs, Oobleck running commentary on the extraordinarily rare Semblance that afforded the Schnee family a distinct advantage of enemy recall from a particularly tricky combination of strength, focus, and copious amounts of Dust. It didn’t look like Weiss was going to do anything of the sort and would instead treat this match as any other training session, wielding combination upon combination of glyphwork to keep herself high and her opponent low. Whether she was preparing for a leaping attack to deliver an aura-shattering blow or was planning on jumping over him to trap him against the mountain base, no one found out because the young man whipped out the arm holding the mace and the chain lengthened just the right distance to knock a blow Weiss only barely deflected. Like a scorpion with a stinger, he had the advantage to catch Weiss if she stood still.

_Will you dance tonight?_

_With you?_

Pyrrha didn’t intend for her response to sound so rude but Ozpin’s mirth rippled through their thoughts as he continued to tease.

_I’m afraid I haven’t danced in a long time_ , she answered, watching carefully as the young man refused to relinquish his position and kept Weiss on her toes with the vicious mace. _No one wants the tall girl to step on them, after all. I’ve probably forgotten how._

_No one forgets how to dance,_ Ozpin replied, casually watching Pyrrha as the huntress in turn watched her friend strategize while running offensive around the mountain.

Weiss was light on her toes, a dancer’s stride reminiscent of her older sister but not yet as commanding of attention, less powerful than Winter’s dangerous physicality on the battlefield. She alit from precipice to outcropping, finding her way back up the mountain peak until she was almost level with the large projected screen. The mace finally found a limit with how far it could stretch to reach her and Weiss was allowed a very haughty, scathing glance before the lightening struck nearby. The forcefield around them generated the long-threatened rain, thunder rattling the stones below Pyrrha’s feet as Weiss was flung from the mountain at the proximity of the strike; the heiress scrambled to form glyphs to break her fall but the rain interfered with her casting, scattering the Dust before it could fully create the commanded effect.

Ruby cried out over the din of the crowd as Weiss ripped through her glyphs to land unceremoniously on the ground, her aura flashing on the screens above to sit at a precarious 70% while the young man hung on at 85% where Weiss struck him firmly at the start of the match. The heiress rolled behind a large boulder that crashed down with her and, from the view provided by the current camera on the screen above, Pyrrha could tell Weiss was strategizing, laying low to bide time while her opponent sought her out.

_I find it hard to look forward to an evening of fun without Blake. We were going to go together_ , Pyrrha shared, confident Weiss’ sudden grin ensured a half-feasible plan through the rain that drenched the arena floor. She watched the raindrops glide along the surface of the protective sphere, the bright blue so luminant that spectators could see through the heavy downpour to watch Weiss load new vials of dry Dust from her pouch. The heiress curled to protect the triggering elements with her body against the slashing of the rain.

_I do agree, our loved ones should be with us for things like this,_ Ozpin solemnly remarked, breaking from his flirt to acknowledge the very real sadness Pyrrha felt in her heart at the thought of Blake resting alone on Ironwood’s ship while Yang and the rest of Team RWBY found a way to balance their evening without one of their own. Too much enjoyment would be a betrayal of Blake’s tragedy and too much sadness would spoil a night Weiss had forced them to look forward to until they found they did anticipate the fun even without Weiss’ threats and cajoling.

_We cannot pause our lives for those we’ve lost or who diverge from our planned paths_ , he continued thoughtfully as the crowd began to catch on to Weiss’ plan as she drew a large blockading glyph behind the young man. The heiress aimed for loose rock halfway up the mountain and directly in the path he tracked closer and closer to her hiding spot. With a quick succession of glyphs, she set the rock in motion and flung a huge boulder into the path to prevent a retreat. The young man turned to run from the rockslide only to careen into the slab of rock and, by the time he swung his mace to shatter the stone to bits, the mass of pebbles and dirt overtook him. His aura plummeted to 30% and kept falling until the forcefield swept away everything in the arena all in one swoop. The mountain shrunk into itself until there was nothing but scraggly brush and packed dirt, even those minimal features disappearing second by second until Weiss and her opponent stood on solid ground once more, having been borne smoothly down to the firm and familiar arena floor without having taken so much as a step. The collective gasp from the crowd confirmed the phenomena that was Atlasian technology indeed created a Vytal Festival Tournament that would be remembered for years to come.

Weiss, still wet from the generated rain, stared at the dry panels below her feet in interest while her opponent gingerly lifted himself from where he was, until just a moment ago, buried completely under rock. Quickly, she caught herself and offered a hand to the young man, who accepted it after a second of consideration and allowed the girl to pull him to his feet while their aura began to regenerate strength and mend minor wounds. Pyrrha watched their aura levels climb on the display projection above before the screens blanked to prepare for the next match.

It took weeks to figure out how to balance her aura against Ozpin’s continuous and accidental draining of her own aura, their grasp on the concept weak and tentative until Ozpin could teach Pyrrha how to feel for his resonance. It took her many afternoons and evenings in the vault below the school until she could separate the threads of her aura from his own and, even then, found them so like each other that her utmost concentration could only discern their differences to a point. Ozpin could quite easily pull and push at her aura, catching on far quicker in their tandem experiments; Pyrrha never liked the feeling of studying him and being studied by him like they were nothing more than lab partners or assigned combatants. It felt impersonal, clinical despite the intimacy implied, and she did far better at assessing his aura moving against hers when they had just emerged from an aural trance. Even then, it wasn’t for very long, but the joining of their souls in her meditative forest gave her the extra depth and focus to discern the fine details between what was him and what was her. They found that, in those minutes as they silently sat and recovered their energy from what continued to be a feat, Pyrrha could accidentally pull aura from him; it further proved that Pyrrha likely survived their first aural trance because of this and had inadvertently caused Ozpin his own distress in addition to the energy he spent establishing the bond to begin with. She was also aware why he stepped past the societal boundaries of correctness to offer her any means she felt necessary to develop their aura together; without their comfort with one another, this would be even more unnerving.

Ozpin insisted on practicing discerning their auras until he was satisfied he could not accidentally draw on hers while she was in the battle arena, Pyrrha’s fears unfounded that she would inadvertently draw from him. She had to purposefully try and, even then, her aura readouts for grading purposes in combat class barely bumped and only briefly. Their most recent work in aura discernment resulted in one of the more heated combat sessions with Qrow when Pyrrha realized she couldn’t think of anything else except how she hadn’t yet seen Ozpin without his emerald-green top, divest of his black vest, and how wonderful his warmth felt against her skin when he curled her against him in his study those few but precious distracted evenings in his study.

_Did Qrow’s bad luck rub off on Blake?_

Ozpin nearly startled, amused at Pyrrha’s question, several responses jamming together before he untangled a gentle chide.

_You were just imagining undressing me yet you’re thinking of Qrow?_

Pyrrha spared him a glance under her flattened eyebrows in silent protest of what she believed to be a very serious moment. Anything concerning Blake was serious, especially now, and the red-haired huntress waited for Ozpin to answer her while doubles-teams were randomly selected on the screen above. A pair from Vacuo, two girls in long split skirts and armed with cutlasses, faced a stoic and ridged team of Atlasian boys. Everyone in the arena paused their conversations and shuffling to watch the Atlas technology select a boggy swamp as the latest battlefield impediment, selected teams moving to the center as the blue forcefield lit up once more to dome the participants.

While the girls began tucking their skirts into their belts, revealing shapely tan legs that quickly threatened to distract more than just their opponents, Ozpin thought carefully as Pyrrha waited for his answer.

_Perhaps. It would be quite like him to take responsibility for her injuries, however. He’s likely drinking himself into a stupor while pursuing the few leads we have on Cinder’s possible whereabouts._

Sensing Pyrrha’s disgust at the idea of Qrow’s drunken stagger in the mid-morning sunlight while wandering the sunlit streets of Vale, Ozpin felt her empathy wear over her judgement.

_The way he grew up, it isn’t a wonder he drinks-_

Her eyes widened in her revelation, risking another glance at Ozpin as the headmaster watched the match playing out in front of them, and he lightly shook his head as he felt her thoughts race.

_No, Cinder does not answer to the Branwen tribe,_ he said, the crowd’s gasp echoing through the huge room as Atlas gave Vacuo a game of hide-and-seek through the tall marsh grass. A roaring wind began to sweep the grasses throughout the enclosed battlefield and gave away the two girls as they crouched in the muddy landscape, the Atlasian boys making quick work of flanking one girl as she ran from her spot like a rabbit dashing across a field. Hawk-like, they swooped and beat upon her as her aura plummeted. Her partner ran too slow through the bogs to save her and bailed on her rescue plan, laying low among mossy logs at the edge of the dome while the wind continued to whip at them all. The girl’s aura fell to 49% and the boys immediately began their search for the second girl; Pyrrha was reminded of the tapestries of the Maidens, specifically the one illustrating a Maiden falling under the force of an armed man while angry fire lit in her eyes at her defeat.

The match was primal and brought out the bloodlust in some of the crowd, a visceral response at the girl’s beating either from those who would stop the demonstration under ethical dilemma or those who wanted a bit of hand-to-hand combat rather than a technological demonstration. Hunters and huntresses were often split between traditional, by-whatever-means-possible combat style where throwing a few punches at each other was simply meant to toughen them all up, and those who believed the vocation was beyond the necessity of dirtying hands because of advanced weaponry and improved education now available to even the youngest in the profession. This crowd was no exception.

_Raven is not the woman Cinder reports to?_

_No._

_How are you sure?_

The wind betrayed the girl as she huddled behind the half-rotten logs, the hem of her long skirt coming undone from her belt and sailing as a bright speck of color against a monotone landscape. The two boys advanced and the crowd wondered if she would fight back, toss her hair and brandish her sword and wear bravery in the face of nearly certain defeat. A hushed moment caught them all in suspense until the girl raised her hands in forfeit. The glowing dome fell around the four as the crowd uncomfortably clapped, booed, and shifted in their seats and the two girls began bickering much like Ruby and Weiss as they stood with muddy clothes and rumpled hair; their classmates needed to escort them off the arena stage as Oobleck and Port ran commentary on the argument distracting the girls from the literal crowd around them waiting for the next matchup.

_We know of Raven’s current location and her tribe hasn’t moved locations in months, since before we bonded auras_ , Ozpin explained as Pyrrha resisted interrupting him to convince him he could be mistaken.

_Raven sounds like exactly the sort of person who would want Cinder and the Black Fang working for her. How have you been tracking her? What has Torchwick said since he was caught?_

_The Branwen Tribe wants nothing to do with outsiders, nothing to do with the White Fang or Black Fang faction. Qrow has reliable informants who have no indication Raven is charting any different course for her people than is usual for their motives._

_Qrow said the people they sold, the night they spoke without their own voices, that it scared him and Raven into doing what they did at Beacon_ , Pyrrha said, nearly pleading her case for Cinder and Raven to be the connection that brought resolution to Cinder’s mysterious mistress. _Maybe something similar happened to Cinder? Maybe Raven had something to do with it and tricked Qrow the first time and now she’s doing it to Cinder and the Black Fang and tricking Qrow again?_

Ozpin didn’t answer and Pyrrha knew she was grasping at shadows and hoping for a solid grip. Raven wasn’t the answer and the huntress slipped into thought as the generator clacked above them. A Beacon student in their final year was paired with a younger Atlasian and won easily. Doubles round brought two sets of Vacuo students in a short battle. Another singles round brought Beacon and Haven together at last, students from Mistral cheering louder than all others even though their representative lost. Doubles brought Haven and Vacuo out onto the battlefield and. through all the fights, Pyrrha kept her eyes on the arena floor but her mind on Cinder.

As the thin man from Vacuo was escorted off the stage by his partner and the blue forcefield fell once more, Pyrrha felt her frustrations and sought to soothe her winkled thoughts; reaching for the memory of a soft morning of exhaustion, tucked up against Ozpin in the plush bed she called her own in his private quarters, she breathed deep and recalled her peace as his voice shared a story. As she flipped the sound over in her mind like she would a coin in her palm, she remembered the taste of his sorrow after the story was through, the pain she could sense in his soul through her own. Pyrrha stifled a small thought that grew louder and louder as she awaited the next selection for singles and a note of despair rang across the dark chasm of her connection with the Headmaster of Beacon Academy.

She felt Ozpin’s dread grow in her own gut as the tension built to a crescendo across their connection within a matter of moments, the red-haired huntress realizing she was onto something as Ozpin tensed.

_What’s wrong?_ she asked, glancing around the arena for signs anything was amiss. _Why does it feel like you’re dreading the next second after second?_

A ripple of fear spread across her soul from his own and her heart lurched as she caught his eye across the battle arena as the next singles opponents were selected. A cheer went up from Haven as one of their own was selected and a blond boy with a smirk stepped out onto the floor. The opponent generator flipped far too long, long enough that spectators and participants alike wondered if Atlas had yet another glitch to iron out and dismissed the delay as nothing more than any other technological issue they’d witnessed that morning. Pyrrha ignored the display above and focused on Ozpin’s distressed amber gaze.

_I’ll lose you, carah, when you know._

_When I know what? Who Cinder answers to? The woman you’ve allegedly told me about?_ Pyrrha nearly shouted, panic filling the jagged hole left by her heart hurtling through her stomach on its way to her toes. _You couldn’t lose me. What am I so close to that frightens you too much to tell me?_

_You know the answer. I’ve already told you._

Pyrrha rapidly flipped through her thoughts, losing grip on staying calm and wanting desperately to not do this here and now, whatever this was. This needed silent contemplation and individual attention, not thousands of bodies packed into an assembly as the crowd muttered around them. One moment she was remembering the peace of them as they came together and now Ozpin was pulling away from her, ripping at her emotions as he struggled to contain his own. It was a simple story- 

Pyrrha’s eyes closed in realization. The moment threatened to overwhelm her as much as hearing about the Maidens first shook her nerves and wracked her core.

His sorrow was borne from memory.

_How much of what you told me was true?_

She knew he knew. He was waiting all this time instead of telling her directly. She didn’t know if he was cowardly, thinking he could lie to her long enough to figure out how to properly cushion the truth, or if he planned on her figuring this out on her own to begin with.

_All of it._

Pyrrha clung tight to her own memories of warm velvet and sunlight across white sheets, amber and pine swirling around her as Ozpin’s words sang out note by note in his sweet silver voice: “There were once two siblings, a brother and a sister, who were as opposite each other as night and day.”

A push on her arm shook her from her disbelief and Pyrrha found Norah’s ocean-like blue eyes watching her with concern.

“Get out there, silly!”

“What?”

“The match! You’re up!”

The huntress heard the crowd roar around her as she looked up to see her own image smiling back at them all; glancing down at her opponent, the blond boy with the smirk, Pyrrha thought she recognized him for a moment as someone she knew. Nearly stumbling as she found the strength to move her leaden feet, Pyrrha swallowed her heart where it had flown up into her throat at the idea of Ozpin shirking from her and his promise to tell her everything he could. That promise, made in front of a dying fire in the middle of a starry night as emerald shadows hid the creep of mahogany creatures, apparently came with the silent clause that she would know when he deemed secrets important enough to tease her with but not fully expose until the worst moment possible could finally come to light.

_You haven’t lost me,_ Pyrrha told him as she crossed the glowing blue line and entered the arena stage. Her stride was that of the favored champion, her chin tilted as she carried herself proudly, and her tall form commanded attention but, had anyone been close enough to see, they’d watch as her eyes glistened with tears.

_You haven’t thought this through_ , Ozpin replied gently, his tone deep and slow as though he needed to draw out a certain amount of time he had left with words he could share with her. _When you fully understand what this means, when you’ve realized who I am, then I’ll lose you._

_Stop saying that! This is for me to decide when I'm not in the middle of a match!_

Ozpin fell silent and obliged her, a final twinge of regret echoing between them as she narrowed her attentions to the task at hand. While the muscle memory of her grip around Milo was too steady to betray her hands to shake, Pyrrha felt ill-prepared and panicked for a match in front of so many spectators and an opponent she knew she couldn’t quite place from the back of her mind. She reached out a glove hand to offer a sporting handshake and the young man rejected it; poor form of him but not all together uncommon from upstart students with a fashionable disregard for unwritten rules of conduct. Some of Haven’s students stopped cheering, unimpressed with their classmate, and some of Pyrrha’s most ardent supporters began to jeer the blond boy.

His stance was familiar but Pyrrha’s eyes, momentarily unfocused by her tears, couldn’t quite see a feature that tied him to her memory. She shook off the slight and watched the screens above in anticipation of their battleground, trying desperately to find her mental focus to win the fight and make her way out of the arena as quickly as possible. Norah and Weiss rang out over the din of the crowd and then the noise was dampened as the blue arena forcefield lit up around them. Sand began to quickly fill the arena, Pyrrha’s fine balance keeping her from slipping any more than necessary as huge sand dunes formed around them and glassy grains filled the space between the floor and Pyrrha’s boots. Her opponent struggled in the sand and the tuned portion of her brain, the part that would always be a huntress first and foremost above whatever the rest of her mind was telling her, alerted her that his balance was poorer than average without adequate time to compensate. Something wasn’t quite right. Reaching out with her Semblance, sipping at her ability just enough to test without anyone noticing, she pulled on any metal in the battle stage. The young man slipped forward, legs nearly pulled out beneath him, and Pyrrha saw a slip of metal at the ankle where his pants leg slid up over his boot as he struggled to keep above the sand.

She quickly saw through the quick and poorly achieved dye job, the green hue to the blond betraying the original bluish-silver of his hair. She noted the cruel smirk from the brief encounters and the files Ironwood and Qrow referenced in her presence. Had she not been so distracted by Ozpin and his riddles and her continuing worry for Aunt May’s safety and the safety of her friends from her deranged cousin, perhaps she would have noticed one of Cinder’s allies right there in the room with her that entire morning. She glanced overhead briefly to see her full name spelled out below her smiling school picture; next to it, her opponent’s name under an image that must have been filed last minute into the database of participants.

“Your name isn’t really Sabaton Knight, is it?”

Pyrrha’s level voice filled the space between them as he recognized the moment she knew he was one of Cinder’s men. The young man widened the grin that charmed so many before they realized the monster that hid beneath his skin, settling into a battle stance as the countdown tones began to chime.

“It is to everyone else in this place,” he spat disdainfully before resuming his disrespectful, flippant tone. “But you? Naw, you’re special. You can call me Mercury Black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyrrha's basically a Mary Sue in canon and I don't think Ozpin would be a good casual flirt so I'm not particularly embarrassed for anything but them. There are some scenes I wrote, then skipped, then realized I should have kept. Oh, well.
> 
> Long sentences are long. It comes from not editing and just writing for the heck of it all. I enjoy the verbosity.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably one of the weirdest days of my life. Here, have a chapter. Short but, eh, whatev.

The final tone sounded and Pyrrha’s eyes widened as sheer instinct forced her to duck under a flying kick that barely grazed her high ponytail, the whip of red shining in the harsh desert light. A rapid series of kicks caught the edges of her shield, Pyrrha just barely able to block the succession that came at such a force that she slipped backwards in the sand. Starting the fight on the defensive wasn’t her usual style and she heard Port’s commentary stating as much, the instructor’s deep baritone muted through the blue forcefield.

_Forfeit,_ Ozpin ordered, realizing what she knew as a slip of trepidation thrummed from Pyrrha as she assessed her opponent. _Immediately._

Mercury lept at her, striking out with another kick and Pyrrha, through sheer instinct, used her Semblance to guide his leg away from her neck while she bent into a backflip. Overextending her body, she found purchase in the slick sand but didn’t gain the distance she needed to avoid a sharp strike from Mercury’s metal foot. The prosthetic slamming into her arm hurt enough for Pyrrha to grit her teeth as she thought of a plan.

_I can keep him in here long enough for someone to catch him on his way back to Cinder,_ she shared in a quick breath while striking out with Milo in short-sword form to counter Mercury’s arm braces as he danced in and out of range.

_He’s not planning on getting back to Cinder_ , Ozpin replied, caution in his tone. _Not if he’s planning on letting you walk from the match._

She felt his barely contained anger as he recalled Qrow’s account Glynda and Amber falling under Cinder’s hired muscle. Pyrrha didn’t have much time to fear for herself even if she wanted to be afraid, continuing to slip through the dunes as she braced against Mercury’s incessant kicking and striking. She needed to switch the field and move him to a distance; close-range would only give him the continued advantage without needing to use her Semblance.

There were few rules of battle, even in controlled combat, but one of Pyrrha’s personal beliefs in an educational match was never winning at the expense of her opponent’s handicaps. She would avoid pulling on Mercury’s metal aids if she could, saving such a low tactic until she knew it would be the last option available. There were just some things you didn’t do unless your life was at stake and Pyrrha doubted Mercury was here for anything more than distracting them while Cinder made another move. This wouldn't come down to dirty tricks, not in front of an entire camera crew and fully packed arena. If something were truly out of her control, she'd know.

Through the continued strikes and blocks, the huntress sensed Ozpin’s intention to stop the match, tapping out commands on his scroll to override the master controls, and his brief sense of confusion before realizing the system was corrupted began to set Pyrrha on edge. Even if she wanted to forfeit, Mercury wouldn’t follow the rules and step aside: she was in with him, trapped. Pyrrha didn’t carry much of an ego when it came to being the favored champion. She didn’t need to be the tournament victor but she refused to become a coward and allow his, and Cinder’s, demonstration of power. To beat her into submission was only a pleasant flavor in the grander goal, she knew that much from the smirk as Mercury continued to drive her closer to the forcefield edge, but what was the ultimate purpose in this?

Ozpin’s mounting tension rang through her as much as the reverberation of Mercury’s kicks against her shield and Pyrrha found it hard to focus on her Semblance while Beacon’s headmaster ran through possibilities in his head. She felt his considerations flicker between them rapidly and she sensed he was less fearful for her than perhaps she wished he was.

Quite a time to realize this, Pyrrha kept to herself as she sought to flip away from Mercury and was met with the forcefield wall. Nearly bouncing off the technology keeping her in and catching her balance with an unusually ungainly wobble, she reassessed Mercury’s dominant and passive aspects to his fighting style. She was good, extremely good. He was better.

She wouldn't last much longer without an intervention.

_Why can’t Ironwood’s team stop the match? Say something isn’t working and shut down the arena?_

_No answer,_ he responded nearly casually as Pyrrha sensed the near calm in his rapid thinking.

_How about Qrow?_

A shrill caw cut through the muffled din of the arena through the forcefield and Pyrrha spared a precious second to watch the blurred shadow of a rumpled bird soar once overhead. She paid for this with a sharp cut across an eyebrow but hardly felt the blow for the rush of confidence that, no matter what happened in this arena, Mercury wasn’t leaving Beacon.

But why? Why would Cinder send Mercury to fight her in a demonstration battle where he wouldn’t likely come back to her? Why would she give up one of her best men?

“That drunk slob took long enough,” Mercury muttered under his breath, words muddled under a cutting, mirthless laugh. “Too deep in the bottle to see through the worst dye job in the history of colored hair. I thought I’d have to dodge him on the way in but I just walked on by and stood here like the rest of you idiots. What a waste of a morning.”

Before she could get in a word, Mercury switched tactics, swinging uselessly against Pyrrha with his arm braces. She took the opportunity to bash him with her shield, demonstrating she wasn’t above winning the match even without the information he knew she wanted. The moment the arena forcefield fell, there was no reason to expect Mercury to take more than three steps in any direction before being escorted to Ironwood’s brig, likely by a very angry crow. Within moments, his aura levels fell significantly and he realized his mistake in underestimating her hand-to-hand combat. She would not be toyed with and, even though she was still a student, was a renowned victor for a reason. He swept low and nearly kicked her legs out from under her, resuming his earlier offensive kicks as she was forced to defend against the incredible strength.

Pyrrha manipulated his actions just enough to send his kicks off her bare skin by an indiscernible amount, only using her Semblance to prevent her aura from dropping rapidly. She didn’t want to show her skills in Polarity to the extent he seemed determined to demonstrate. After what felt like minutes but could only have been seconds, Pyrrha realized she would need to end this sooner than later. Mercury wasn’t going to gloat any longer, keeping her on the end of a string with the promise of information. She would forfeit and take the loss rather than continue the charade of interscholastic competition while Cinder did who knew what; she decided Ozpin’s order would be best.

As she took the knee and began to put up her hands, Mercury spun out of his next kick and met her eye to eye, feigning a kick to provoke her.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, cocking an eyebrow as the bloody smear of a cut on her forehead healed slowly, fed with a trickle of precious aura. “Forfeit and blondie over there gets the same as the Faunus scum.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, treating the action of taking a knee as nothing more than a slip in the sand and bringing Milo and Akouo back into her hands with a touch of her Semblance. With that admittance, she knew there wasn’t a chance that the microphones were active in the battle arena and, even as she asked, Mercury gave her a disdainful sneer.

“’Why are you doing this?’” he taunted back while redoubling his efforts to stay close to Pyrrha in his kicks and spins. Pyrrha dodged them all, blocking where she couldn’t duck or jump, trying to stay close to hear his response at the risk of tightening their proximity.

Again, Mercury calculated a series of movements that would bring his prosthetic legs to kick close to her neck and, again, she diverted them with her Semblance. As he smirked when she used the smallest bit of Polarity, she shared her assumption for his personal appearance rather than Cinder sending the green-haired girl.

“You’re going to make me a liability while giving Cinder time to get back into Beacon,” she rushed, brandishing the short-sword to keep his arm braces out of defensive positions as she half-heartedly struck to keep him close.

“Using your Semblance to win against a cripple,” he laughed, lazily dodging a blow in the near casual hand-to-hand sequence keeping them tight together. “The famous Pyrrha Nikos, nothing more than a stupid girl desperate to stay on top. Everyone will see how you had to manipulate my metal to win. Poor me," he laughed again, shaking his head, "That isn’t the real reason I’m here, though.”

Pyrrha dodged a weak kick and swung the edge of her shield into his gut, tossing Mercury backward and costing him more aura than he anticipated. The match would soon be over if he didn’t get to his point and the huntress saw his eyes narrow with a resoluteness that could only mean an end was coming whether or not she was ready. He shot at her, catching her by a shoulder and slamming her to the sand, the huntress not quick enough to avoid the grab but too strong to be kept down for any length of time.

With an angry cry, Pyrrha pushed off him to flip as far back as she dared without hitting the forcefield, using her Semblance to turn Milo into its javelin form as Mercury shot Dust rounds from a trigger mechanism on his ankle. She defended herself against the Dust by crouching behind her shield but missed her chance to throw as far as she would want without Polarity assistance. The crowd was incensed from the Atlasian boys beating on the Vacuo girl. The favored champion utilizing her Semblance against a boy with metal legs would be immediately suspect – Pyrrha would be the girl who lost perspective and did anything to win – and she would be tarnished.

More importantly, as he just threatened Yang with the same fate as poor Blake, he informed her of only part but a very important part of his plans. Yes, he’d like to discredit her, and he was certainly creating a distraction, but another, more sinister reason, began to weigh out.

Mercury tapped his heels together, activating Dust to achieve a controlled explosion. He flew up into the air and vaulted away as Pyrrha found her chance to utilize her skills in marksmanship. Rapidly, she transformed Milo into the rifle-form she rarely had the opportunity to use in battle. Two shots, one deflected by Mercury’s gauntlet and another driven off course by the Dust blowback from his boots as he continued to sail through the air. He created distance between them, repeating the action to soar into the air on the waves of recoil from his weaponized prosthetics.

Pyrrha ran through the sand, continuing to aim until she had a clear shot at disabling the Dust trigger on one of this ankles. Although she succeeded in ruining the mechanism, send him careening off course to smash into a nearby dune, she didn’t see the small explosive Mercury dropped and kicked into the sand for this very opportunity. The resulting blast kicked Pyrrha back through the air, disorienting her until she turned the momentum of her fall into as graceful a landing as she could accomplish, minimizing the impact to her aura.

She rolled hard, handfuls of sharp grains catching under her armor, and she recalled the breathtaking fear of her first aural trance with Ozpin. Her memory of falling through dirt and stone through a terrifyingly dark forest, sinister creatures calling her name with mahogany throats and ebony voices, shot through her nerves. Pyrrha recalled stripping her armor in that grand, gorgeous bedroom, checking for dirt and scratches from the trees that ripped at her with their roots, confused upon finding nothing when her mind told her something was amiss. She nearly stumbled on her way through the dunes where Mercury waited with a cocked hip, baiting her into acting irrationally.

Now, as she swept at Mercury with the javelin, she focused on what was amiss elsewhere. Ozpin knew this was an attempt at distraction and the gears of his thoughts ran so rapidly that they thrummed like factory machinery. He was running through every possibility as to how the Atlasian technology was corrupted that he had no control, why Ironwood wasn’t answering, and Pyrrha felt the flash of potential betrayal surge through their shared thoughts as she herself tried to focus on why Mercury was only half engaged in the field. She knew he was capable of so much more than the dodging, ducking, and retreating he sequenced through now, especially with how strong his offensive was at the start of the match. It wasn’t just distraction and it wasn’t just the potential to shame her in an arena match: the glint in Mercury’s eye was hard and focused entirely on positioning the red-haired huntress where he wanted her.

“Give up now and I promise you’ll be safe. We'll protect you from her.”

Pyrrha forced the words through clenched teeth as she got close enough to Mercury to speak without having to shout. She slipped Akouo higher over her arm to deflect several kicks aimed at her head, her arm sore from the force she’d had to deflect to this point.

“You think I’m afraid of Cinder? She’s just my boss,” he grunted as she parried her short-sword against several swift kicks with his other metal leg. "On occasion, that is."

“No,” Pyrrha grunted as she swung enough force through the short-sword to chip at the second Dust trigger at his ankles, Mercury narrowing his eyes as he realized what she had done.

“No,” she repeated, driving her weight behind another sweep of Milo’s blade to cut a strap off Mercury’s arm guards, allowing him little recourse with the right arm should she fire from the rifle form again. “I think you’re afraid of Cinder’s boss. She’s the real threat, isn’t she?”

The fear in Mercury’s eyes was real and true but had nothing to do with Pyrrha’s short-sword as the huntress drew the blade yet again at his armor, cutting the scales off the snake he was. His momentary panic was genuine but not from the fact the arena forcefield fell and overwhelming crowd noise flooded the floor. The man looked boyish under the flop of his jaw as he gaped at her and Pyrrha fixated on the way she knew just enough to illicit that response. Maybe it would be enough to continue him to surrender, to give up the match and let Ironwood’s mechs take him away to hide him from Cinder and her horrible mistress.

Just the opposite happened, however, and Pyrrha could never have prepared for it had she not guessed his true intent, the real mission in his actions, from the moment she walked into the arena.

Mercury stepped away from Pyrrha and the huntress moved to follow, expecting the retreat.

Pyrrha’s long red hipscarf swirled with the rotation of her body as she spun to gain momentum into a jump that would carry her the distance to flip over Mercury, now that he was without Dust triggers to shoot forward and was far less agile in the sand than she was.

Her final revolution brought her face to face with him as he moved forward instead of backward, rocking back on his metal legs only to trick the huntress. The feint worked and he met Pyrrha’s form with his own.

A gleaming silver dagger flashed between them.

 

\----

 

There are few known rules to Semblance.

One is that hereditary Semblance is extremely rare; the Schnee family was one of only a dozen clans of blood relatives who consistently saw the same Semblance manifest in every generation.

Another rule is everyone had only one Semblance. That Semblance could shift within perimeters, such as age or influence from injury, but never split or evolve into two or more manifestations of soul.

Yet another rule is that of constants. You could not create a life, nor take one, through Semblance alone. Heal, yes. Influence, indeed. But never the capability of making or claiming life. There was no death touch or miracle, conceived or delivered in any form, from one’s soul only.

Time was another rule of constants. It existed beyond any level a soul was capable of influencing. A huntress could control the elements or influence others but could not alter the time in which they existed. A hunter could not revisit the past or see the future in any way that adjusted the flow of the present.

And yet another rule was everything with a soul had an aura and therefore had a Semblance. Some demonstrated their Semblance before they could understand the world around them, others came to know their capabilities later in life, but there was no record of anyone who was born, lived, and died a natural life who did not also have a Semblance.

There were rare manifestations of aura, some so unknown and unexplored that it was believed they were the only living beings on Remnant who possessed such skills (or curses, as some turned out to be). Some spent their lives in pursuit of their soul’s limit, using their Semblance as tools to create a better life for themselves or those around them. Others spent their life hiding their Semblance, shirking their burden or burying their knowledge of themselves deep within. Some souls were subtle, their Semblance very weak or hard to discern even when actively utilized. Other souls were the equivalent of shouting in an otherwise silent room, jarring to any and all nearby. Nearly everyone fell between the extremes and most had a basic understanding of their Semblance by the time they entered primary schools.   

The rules were there as a comfort to those who felt so absolutely different that they couldn’t possibly have a soul, or for those who were scared or confused about their Semblance. They were thought of as fact both to some of the most intelligent scientists and devout spiritual leaders of every generation since Semblance was first recorded.

Some, however, were exceptions to the rules.

 

\--

 

 In a surge of energy wrapped in fear and fury, Ozpin slowed time.

 

\--

 

“You see,” Mercury said, nearly nose to nose with Pyrrha as she dropped Milo and Akouo to grab at the hands driving the dagger into her side, “Emerald is Cinder’s diplomat, does her errands, smooths the wrinkles. She obeys without a word.”

Pyrrha felt a sticky, shocking warmth pool between her fingers and begin to drip in a fiendish tickle across her hands. Thousands of spectators watched the ruby red of the girl’s blood begin to shine under the hard light of the arena, some gasping while others shot up from their seat, a few crying out. She didn’t hear any of them as Mercury continued his terrible gloat in a rapid, hushed mumble.

“I’m the assassin. I came here to do a job but I don’t have the same loyalty Emerald does. They wanted to keep you exactly where they had you, tucked away at this awful excuse of a school.”

The crowd cried out as the sands continued to slip away into aether and battlefield dissolving into the blank slate it had been just a short while ago, leaving a huntress clutching a knife buried in her ribs and a young man preparing to cry out in an performance few would doubt as anything but authentic panic over a weapons accident.

“You’re too much trouble to keep alive, though,” Mercury whispered, bending close to Pyrrha’s ear as she took the first full gasp with steel in her lungs and found little room for air.  “I don’t take Cinder’s orders. But I do take Salem’s.”

 

\--

 

With immense effort, the likes of which had only been witnessed by very few and none who were alive that day, Ozpin reversed the flow of time.

 

\--

 

The arena forcefield fell as Pyrrha’s long red hipscarf swirled with the rotation of her body. She spun to gain momentum into a jump that would carry her the distance to flip over Mercury, now that he was without Dust triggers to shoot forward and was far less agile in the sand than she was.

Her final revolution brought her face to face with him as he moved forward instead of backward, rocking back on his metal legs only to trick the huntress. The feint worked and he met Pyrrha’s form with his own.

A gleaming silver dagger flashed between them and a bullet struck Mercury’s hand, forcing him to drop the weapon and cry out. Pyrrha landed behind him, pulling the javelin tight against his neck and knocking out the backs of his knees so he slumped into the choke, too focused on the wound in his hand to struggle against Pyrrha while James Ironwood stepped onto the arena floor.

Sands dissipated under his heavy booted stride, the arena forcefield having fallen seconds ago and carrying with it any trace of the oppressive, gritty heat. Pyrrha’s hair stuck to her skin, the peridot accents to her gleaming headdress swinging with the fierce momentum of claiming Mercury as a captive under Milo. The huntress felt dizzy, momentarily nauseous, and, had she not experienced this exact same sickness numerous times before, would have blamed it on the exertion in such an extreme, albeit temporary, climate. This was a familiar dizziness, a nausea that refused to be forgotten for how many weeks she struggled with the incessant weight sticking her tongue to the back of her throat, and Pyrrha felt Ozpin’s exhaustion seep into her bones without warning. She nearly dropped the javelin to release Mercury; it was only under the chilling gaze of the General that the assassin didn’t squirm and force Pyrrha to let him go.

General Ironwood turned to the arena, addressing the students rooted where they stood in waiting at the edge of the stage, their cheers turned to absolute shocked silence. The guests seated in the arena, however, launched into immediate and confused shouting, panic surging through the delegates and spectators. Everyone in the room felt a primal sense of unease, a warning that something happened here that, if it were the will and design of the unseen power that swept across them all, no one would be safe from its effects. Those who looked to Ozpin for any sign that their anxieties were ill-founded found no reason to continue their panic, the Headmaster of Beacon Academy standing very still, his hands clenched over the top of his ebony-and-silver walking stick, a large rumpled bird tucked tight on his shoulder.

“Distinguished guests,” Ironwood boomed, seeking to be heard over the increasing volume of the crowd as people began to rush for the doors. “You have nothing to fear! I repeat, absolutely nothing to fear.”

Pyrrha dared a glance at Norah, her teammate making her way in a silent rush to where Weiss gripped Yang’s arm. Not trusting herself to have missed any other poorly disguised enemies in the rush of excitement and distraction the morning had brought her thus far, Pyrrha took inventory of all the faces she could see without moving, mentally tallying how many Beacon students were nearby. Something felt terribly wrong, even as the feeling began to dissipate from the room nearly as quickly as it came upon them.

“This man is an imposter,” Ironwood called out over the dying din of the crowd, those who hadn’t made it out of the arena yet stopping to listen to the well-respected General. “We stopped the match because this man is not a student! He is a wanted criminal and he fell into our trap.”

Mech guards took the stage, their metal legs shaking the floors as they stomped closer, thin plasticine hexagons creaking faintly like stressed glass under their force. Mercury began to struggle and Pyrrha was too sick to hold him much longer, the huntress coughing up bile stuck in her throat as a guard seized Mercury. He flailed, unable to break the mechanical grip, and Pyrrha wondered if she wouldn’t pass out on the spot. Willing herself to stay on her feet and closing her eyes against the questioning glances flicking her way whenever Ironwood stopped talking, she bit her lip and took steady breaths.

“I apologize to each and every one of you,” Ironwood continued, years of crowd control and diplomatic training easing the guests who were slowly starting to check back into the reality of the situation rather than listen to the hairs that stood up on the back of their necks. “The assassin known as Mercury Black has been apprehended in his attempt to disrupt the Vytal Festival. Only through the willingness of one of the best and brightest of Beacon Academy were we able to catch him in his disguise as a student.”

Scattered applause hardly registered for Pyrrha as the General gestured at her, her mind barely focusing on his attempts to woo the crowd as she willed herself not to throw up in front of everyone like she had in front of Qrow. The General continued his lauding for Pyrrha’s bravery in assisting the kingdoms of Atlas and Vale in apprehending a dangerous villain by playing along with Mercury’s disguise, Ironwood inviting everyone to come back to the arena after a brief walk in the campus gardens.

The dark bird flew from Ozpin’s shoulder at the headmaster’s whisper, swooping down to the stage and behind a group of huddled students only to push his way through the milling bodies as a heavily disheveled and extremely drunken hunter.

“Oz wants to see you in that damned study,” he managed before staggered two steps sideways, catching the concerned attention of several nearby students on their way across the arena floor.

“Again,” Qrow added before redoubling his efforts to hold back his breakfast, raising an eyebrow in what would have been a jaunty gesture had he not come to slump entirely against the wall nearby.

 

\--

 

The final qualifying match continued, guests and students alike resuming the festivities with a lighter air now that Ironwood and his public relations teams had wooed and cajoled the majority of the spectators to return. All participating students returned to have their chance in the arena and Norah side-eyed Pyrrha as her teammate left the battle stage with a staggering crow in tow, mounting the many stairs where Ozpin’s tall figure waited. The headmaster watched them both with a fragile weariness Norah never would have guessed Ozpin could manage; usually the bastion of confidence, gentle (albeit unusual) humor, and contemplative energy, he looked as though he had lost something so dear to him that the strawberry-blonde huntress-in-training could only guess to be a piece of his heart.

She watched the trio disappear into the crowd, Pyrrha’s flaming red hair swaying with her willowy stride. She wished Ren and Jaune were here, especially Ren; she never felt comfortable without knowing he was nearby. Even though Weiss and Yang were next to her, one drawn very pale and the other unusually silent, Norah felt very much alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Practice what you're bad at. I'm bad at fight scenes. Ta-da.
> 
> Yes, we're back in the study again. But at least we're out of the tree.
> 
> We get some answers next chapter. Which is good because all I've done so far is make questions and give really bad answers that need multiple explanations. Also, if you're even one bit interested in the main ship, then perhaps it'll be less boring than you think.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been formatted to fit your screens. Rated M for far more than what should probably have been written. Portions are pre-recorded. 
> 
> (Really, I wrote the bulk of this chapter way back at the beginning and intended for it to be one of the first dozen chapters but I was hesitant and the ship hit rough seas - now, I have less shame...)

Qrow stalked to the Headmaster’s Office at the top of the tower while Pyrrha and Ozpin continued on to the study, the hunter grumbling at Ozpin’s orders not to search for Cinder on the school grounds. While the two argued in the elevator, Ozpin maintaining he knew Mercury’s attack on Pyrrha wasn’t a distraction for Cinder to sneak back into Beacon and Qrow fighting him to share exactly why he knew this as fact, Pyrrha resisted the urge to snap at them both. She pulled her arm tight to her side, overcome with exhaustion and annoyance; last time she was in such a mood in this elevator, she’d nearly shouted at Ironwood himself. Now, she bit her lip to hold back from joining in, unsure who she’d actually side with, as her disgust for them both reeled between Qrow’s drunken sloveness and Ozpin’s reluctance to follow through with his word. Both had such a desire for control that things around them spiralized so quickly in the opposite direction.

Pyrrha squinted in the harsh light pouring in through the tall windows of Ozpin’s study, the day sunny and bright in spite of the attempt on her life in the darkened arena far below. The room was cleaner than usual, no stacks of books teetering on end tables, no pillows or blankets folded haphazardly over furniture. The mahogany carvings were less imposing in the flood of ocher; their power lay in the emerald shadows of the evenings where Pyrrha studied the histories and mysteries of Remnant, discovered answers to the questions she didn’t know she had until she met Ozpin’s gaze. Until recently, she thought of this room as a center of familiarity and was loathe to give up the halfway point between her life before the Maidens and her future as a Maiden. 

She was fairly tired of the shouting she had done here, the fearful moments where the Maiden-spirit seemed an intangible improbability, and she could hardly remember the last time she was in this room without decisions being made for her. She looked to the spot where one of the grimmest men she’d ever met upturned cup and saucer to spill upon the finely woven rug. There was no stain but the memory gnawed at Pyrrha: he seemed fit to betray them one second, ready to entertain with them the next. The General just shot a knife out of a man’s hand to prevent harm to her but wouldn’t even glance at her. Just minutes ago, he dismissed her as easily and with as much disappointment as he had Ozpin and Qrow yesterday on his airship. 

While she gazed out the window at the auburn forests and yellowing fields bordering Vale, she heard Ozpin fix a mug of tea, the sweet scent of crushed herbs drifting through the air in a familiar melody of senses. She composed herself, pushing aside her anger and frustrations to open her mind and heart to what she felt Ozpin struggle to share. After waiting so long and accepting far less than he promised to share because she herself didn’t want to listen, a few minutes more wouldn’t matter. When she turned, rays of light streaming across her form to throw a muted silhouette across the floor, she saw Ozpin as few had ever seen him. 

He sat a little less straight, a posture of shame for someone who always stood so tall and confident in his normal bearing. The unforgiving light cut his face into shadows and lines and the scars stood out on his hands as he ran his fingers through his hair in what, on anyone else, would have been a nervous tik. Eyes closed, Ozpin took a sip from the mug with a hand that curled wearily around the warm porcelain, head coming to slump forward as he thought carefully about his next words. A second mug steamed nearby, undoubtedly made the way she liked it; he always hosted, serving her before she was able to serve him. The conversation with Blake, her best friend brushing her hair in the blushing light of dawn, swam through her thoughts as she recalled wishing, one day, to know how he took his tea. The exact words sank like river stones below the stream of her thoughts, there but without firm form. They sank deeper into the depths as she watched her mentor compose himself.

As Pyrrha’s long shadow fell across his form, the sun heating her muscles and gathering in her hair, she felt Ozpin’s struggle in her own heart, just as he sensed the steady but insistent declaration in her own. It was time to disclose that what he feared losing her over, time to follow up on the heaviness he carried when he thought she would abandon him. Her stillness, the calm that ran dangerous and deep under a fractured semblance of controlled temper, allowed her to wait him out until he spoke first.

“Cinder is not on school grounds,” he stated, voice firm despite his very worn appearance.

“How do you know this?” 

Pyrrha waited for him again, a portion of her heart squeezing as it pained her not to comfort him. She knew he felt it, the undercurrent of resolve that wouldn’t hold much longer if he were to keep her trust in his continuously failed promise to share truths as they came to light.

“Do you feel quite well?”

She stammered as she tried to think of a response to his question that didn’t bite gave him an awareness of exactly how intolerant she was for trap doors and hidden stairways in this conversation.

“Honestly,” she shared, sensing the relevancy to what he was trying to find the strength to say as she slowly walked to the armchair across from Ozpin, sitting as carefully as she spoke, “I feel woozy. Something feels odd in the air… like everyone in the arena isn’t who they were when they walked in but for no specific reason. The crowd was different after that Vacuo girl was beaten but this feels worse, in a way. Everyone was split in their reactions. Some were angry or disappointed in those around them for feeling the way they felt. Now, it seems everyone agrees and doesn’t want to be left behind the crowd itself. A shared uneasiness when everyone had just been so separate from each other. Does that make sense?”

Ozpin nodded, weary, and Pyrrha noticed the faintest shake of the hand brushing across his closed eyes.

“It was my Semblance, Pyrrha.”

Even though her mind was whirring, the way he said her name thrilled her and, in a swift moment, their eyes sparked before Ozpin retreated again behind closed lids.

“On rare occasion, with increasing frequency since you became entrusted with the Maiden-spirit remnant, my Semblance manifests unintentionally,” he admitted with a sense of shame Pyrrha couldn’t place. “It is sporadic, minute, but still a sliver of control that slips away when I so deeply desire to hold onto the moment rather than let it pass as it should. I try not to do such a thing but sometimes it is for the best to acknowledge and move on. There are few things that can truly drive someone to the brink of insanity, Ms. Nikos, and reconstructing reality after the natural progression has come to pass holds greater risk for disaster than any of the weapons General Ironwood could possibly use.”

“Everyone’s Semblance sways out of control every once in a while,” she offered, unsure why his uneasiness over this fact was bothering him so much. “It isn’t possible to control your aura all the time, especially when you’re tired or distracted. Why is this such a bad thing that you’re like everyone else?"

The headmaster glanced up at her as he opened his eyes under the shade of one still-trembling hand. A faint smile danced at the corners of his mouth for such a quick moment that Pyrrha wondered if she saw it properly.

“I’m not like everyone else,” he said softly, burying his face deeper into his caged hand. “It is the reason you lose sense of time, Pyrrha. When we created the bond. When we deepened our aural trance. When I can’t choose what to let go in times of duress, when I cannot carry the weight of this world alongside the burden of my duties, my Semblance is often what slips.”

His shuddering sigh held a warning as Pyrrah stood from her chair, the huntress insistent on preventing Ozpin from shirking from her even farther. He seemed to stop breathing as he turned slightly, watching her from the corner of his eye as the sands in the hourglass on the shelf nearby ceased to fall. She followed his glance at the timekeeper and, as she witnessed the fluid cessation of their surroundings in a dizzying spiral of sparkles at the corners of her vision, she stifled a gasp. 

Just for the space of a heartbeat, Pyrrha held the wonder with a rapt, worried expression. Then time resumed, grains tumbling into the past as the hourglass began to flow once more. Although she long wondered what Ozpin’s Semblance was, Pyrrha began to realize slowly and then all at once, hands flying to her mouth. The missing time, her disorientation and missing snippets of recollection, fell into place where they belonged in their story together.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” she breathed. “No one- Time is constant, unstoppable.”

Ozpin’s expression deepened under his fringe of tousled silver hair, closing his eyes as he saw Pyrrha’s nearly horrified expression. He would lose her when she knew, risking their bond and everything he held close were she to find out, and now he faced the fear that kept him always at a distance from - even as he shared his soul with – the red-haired huntress beside him. 

“That dream,” Pyrrha muttered through her fingers, eyes darting in realization as so many of the shards of a broken reality fit together. “Mountain Glenn. It wasn’t my imagination or yours – it was how it used to look. That was a memory, wasn’t it?”

Slowly, Ozpin nodded once, body still and poised for flight. He didn’t have to say anything. Pyrrha was a smart woman and he would expect nothing less from his emerald-eyed warrior than to think before reacting. He also knew it had all been in front of her long enough that she had chosen to ignore the implications, decided to turn a blind eye to the knowledge she had of the history of Remnant and Maidens despite studying that history in depth; selective considerations in favor of ignorance was unlike her intellection and yet told him everything he needed to know. Pyrrha had known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Ozpin transcended anything considered usual. 

“You have your wooded river and I have my nighttime valley” he explained with all the patience of a lecturer preparing a student for exam. “Mountain Glenn was an extraordinarily beautiful place and I made my home there for many years.”

“How many years?” 

Pyrrha asked her question with a trembling tone, her voice that of a young woman scared to hear the answer she had tried to ignore for so long. She had been a fool but it bought her the illusion of time, her heart tricking her mind into postponing this realization that Ozpin was far beyond a mortal man. His control of time was no illusion, however, and she felt the study creep in around her even as bright sunlight burned on her flaming hair. Ozpin held that gleam in his memory, the last bit of her she’d likely share with him, and he let the inferno of her presence fill him as he emptied himself of long-deserved explanations.

“You slipped into my meditative state when you fell asleep, accidentally sharing a connection without attempting to. It is quite laudable, actually. We had hoped to accomplish this but, admittedly, in a more purposeful way than to find yourself wandering alone in the dark through my thoughts. No one should have to travel those roads, Pyrrha. Not even those who saw them first.”

If he kept talking, he could keep her thinking, and she had earned the right to hear at least this much truth that Ozpin kept locked away from Remnant. He respected her far more than he feared his cowardice and, if he was unable to assure the transfer of the Maiden-spirit, he could at least give her this as a parting gift.

“I saw the moon crack in the sky, watched Dust level entire continents and reshape Remnant under the force of hatred and fury. I remember this world before academies, before kingdoms, before war. I shaped the ground beneath me and the sky above me. I walked- no, no… I flew the entirety of every forest, every ocean, and saw those forests die and oceans drain. I’ve watched the death and rebirth of Remnant and know the names of every animal and Grimm that roam. I remember a world of magic, the days before Maidens.” 

Ozpin turned his head away from where he watched her, rooted to the ground and every muscle singing for atonement as he forced the words from him. He didn’t want to see the moment she would break, would run, would leave him with nothing but to lull his regrets and shame back to dormancy in his heart. 

“I have made more mistakes than anyone who has ever lived. There are only a few things I can claim with pride, even less with humility, and far more with guilt.”

He stood, forcing his hands away from his face and placing them instead atop the mantle over the fireplace. His voice cracked as myriad swirls of repressed memory lapped at the dam he built against them, threatening to overtake him as he bared his heart. None alive knew Ozpin as the man he was now but it took many lifetimes to become the closest thing he had accomplished to achieving humanity.

“I have only become involved in history when I’ve feared the loss of mankind itself. It takes far longer to build than it does to destroy. Humans, faunus, and every creature with a conscious have a desire for power, whether over themselves or others. I have done what I know how in order to maintain a balance. We balance our malice against our empathy, our envy against our inherent philanthropy. No one should have to live lifetime upon lifetime to watch the balance sway ever closer to the darkness.”

He could hear her breathe, nearly taste the scent of her fear in the air, and his hands against the ebony mantle gripped so tight he felt the wood begin to splinter. Perhaps it was better this way. Now she wouldn’t want him to touch her, to speak to her. He would see her safely settled anywhere on Remnant other than Beacon Academy. Anything she required, any request, to be granted if only to be assured he never intended to burden her with his history. Ozpin had underestimated his soul’s desire to be seen and it led him to her. Pyrrha Nikos, a young huntress with a great capacity for compassion and a heart that beat for justice and equality: things so desperately needed for a kinder, fairer world. 

“You slipped into my meditative state without realizing, without effort,” he continued, finding fewer words than he expected. “The first time I touched your soul, we created a harmony. I expected dissonance, resistance. I expected to very nearly break us in the attempt. As it was, we risked our lives and came close to mortal peril. What I’ve realized since establishing and strengthening our bond is that we are weakest when we keep ourselves from one another out of fear.”

How many times had he sensed her insecurities, her shields keeping him at an arm’s length even as she shared more and more of herself with him? How many times had he caught himself doing it to her? There were moments where he wished to tell her the book she held was one he wrote before her great-grandfather was born. Flashing seconds throughout the day where he wished to hold her in an embrace that could break him into tears or laughter; he chose instead to keep his wish for touch and comfort to himself. She was a swirl of elegant red that dared him to confide in her, an invitation in the pleading green eyes to not only share her days with him but also her deepest desires. If he let her, she could make another world for him, a world where his suffering and joy and grief and fulfilment came from the light in her smile and the shadow of her worried brow. How much simpler it had been to carry his history in silence before he knew an aural trance with a willing soul would lead him to give his absolute trust to a huntress not yet in her prime?

“When we overthink, Pyrrha, we limit ourselves. Nothing done without thought becomes what we envision. Just as you seek to respect my boundaries, I seek to respect yours. Know, though, my blame in preventing us from achieving further progress. Know how much of myself I cannot share with you, how much you now know that no one else does, and how I regret keeping it all from you how I have. When we think of each other without guards on our thoughts, without protection around our desire to conform and stay within our own internal expectations of ourselves, we limit our connection to each other. If we had more time, perhaps we could have found a way to navigate around the missing portion of the Maiden-spirit and united you with what you should never have been expected to bear.”

With a bowed head, he choked on the few words he knew he wanted to share before she would leave him forever. 

“I would give you the very heart from my chest in apology.”

 

\---

 

Pyrrha took a careful step toward Ozpin, nearly tentative as she tried to read the expression on his face, hidden behind an ashy tousle of hair, without reaching across the inky chasm of their silent connection. Aura wouldn’t tell her what she needed to know, wouldn’t promise the response she hoped for when she reached out to touch him with numb fingers. They had shared so much through that bond and now she realized the hesitation that continued to keep them at a shallow surface.

“Then give me your heart,” she said, placing her hand lightly on Ozpin’s arm, fingers gripping the smooth velvet. “I’ll give you mine in return.”

He didn’t dare look at her, didn’t want to check for the lie in her eyes or the fear in her posture that would show she didn’t fully believe what she said.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

 

\---

 

The long shuddering sigh rippled through the air, collapsing his chest as Ozpin dared hardly breathe for fear of breaking the spell resting heavy over them both. A single tear swept along his aquiline nose to fall to the hearthstone under his feet. With that tear, he relinquished the hoard on his heart. Time and time again, he saw the kindness in her eyes when she gazed upon the world. He felt the humility and honesty in her spirit when he shared her soul and rested by her forest stream. Even now, as he sensed her trepidation at his confession, as her mind tested the equations of what she knew as history against his proof of personal experience, he felt the spark in her that fed his own flame. 

As she eased nearer with the languid shift of shoulders and hips he craved to feel against his own form, he waited for her to slip her arms around him and initiate with the gentle kiss she placed on his neck. His answer was the precise and practiced response of his lips under her ear as he bent to her, a light drift across her pulse as he breathed his own permission, and Pyrrha felt him lean into her as she kissed him again. 

“I know you,” she whispered, making her way along his neck with a now-practiced ease that startled as well as excited them both. “I know this.”

His hands, covered as they were in scars from innumerable battles and trials and triumphs, came loose from the mantle and almost hesitated before reaching for her, a foolish worry that she was just part of his imagination fluttering against his throat before the smooth leather of her battle corset slipped against his fingertips. He slid along her jaw and caressed gently while he pulled her lips to his own with a startling fierceness. The mix of fire and flood burned against her skin as Ozpin took one more kiss. His touch was desperation, even as he felt her own brief hesitancy mix with his own, and Pyrrha abandoned the well-paved road of delicate exploration they previously walked. She was done hesitating, finished with the tentative side-stepping around their differences and disparities. He was hers as much as she was his.

Grabbing his jacket in fistfuls, Pyrrha pulled him into wild spin to practically slam the air from his lungs as she pinned him between the mantle and her own body, hardly letting him catch a full breath before her lips were back on his in a fierce kiss. She felt him try to speak but refused to let the words form, determined to keep him exactly as he was instead of letting him slip back into his role as professor. It would be the end of their passion, the signal she would have respected at any other time to resume her responsibilities and let him resume his, and Pyrrha knew he would have pushed her from his arms if he truly wanted distance. He gave her everything he had to offer of his heart and she needed some way, no matter how base, to respond to the moment he feared her rejection more than anything else on Remnant. 

She released the grip on the lush black velvet to find his hand where he began to pull away from her and place it back against her waist, hooking a leg around his own as he moved to step apart. He made to speak but the crush of her lips against his prevented any words from escaping.

The rush she felt when Ozpin had joined her in her lesson against Qrow was back, flowing through her veins with heady abandon, and she shuddered with pleasure at recalling the gleam in his eyes even as he had asked her to find distance between them until she was under her own control again. Although her thus-far limited experience with physical passion had been tender and patient, she knew the inadvertent signals that did more than hint at what lust could accomplish; Ozpin had obliged her to a point that never crossed a line of modesty, no matter how much she had signaled she was ready to experience more than a kiss and caress.

“If you ask me to stop, I will,” she finally said as he continued to try to speak without the full use of his lips. She tossed the hair out of her eyes and looked up into his own, feeling the amber melt around her even as she saw the hesitation that veiled that spark she so desperately wanted to consume them both. “Do you-“

She didn’t need to finish, couldn’t finish as Ozpin met her with all the force she placed on him just moments earlier, and she closed her eyes in relief as he crashed over her like a wave. 

He dipped his chin to catch her lips with his, tongue exploring her mouth while his strong arms wrapped her against him in a crushing embrace. She clung to him in surprise as he swung her to lean against a nearby bookshelf, their forms staggering before the headmaster and huntress found balance as they would on the battlefield; the tension of the meeting snapped around them and brought them closer, frustration and fear dissipating under long strokes and quick breaths.

Pyrrha wrapped her fingers in his ashen hair, pulling at him while his arms caged her tightly against his well-muscled body. All this room had experienced before were their soft kisses and shy, nearly chaste, caresses, firelight sharing Pyrrha’s sweet pink blushes and Ozpin’s dark brows bound in conflict. Now, books rocked on their shelves as the red-haired huntress rolled Ozpin so their tall forms were reversed and she pressed all her weight into pinning him tight where he just had her. Of the thoughts that dashed through her mind in haphazard flashes, she knew Ozpin had allowed her to do so, allowed her still the illusion of equality. How far would she have to go for him to demonstrate his true capability to best her in this game of release?

Grabbing fistfuls of velvet jacket again, Pyrrha again wrapped a leg around his, feeling his thigh slip between her own. She gasped and inexpertly knocked her teeth against his lips as one of his large hands grabbed the underside of her thigh to ride her hips higher into his, fingers trailing down her leg to follow the smooth lines of her muscles to where her boot met her ankle. Momentarily distracted, she tried to look down to see why he would be taking off the brown leather boot and he bit her lip, hard. 

He didn’t have to send her the thought to pay attention to what she was doing, her shock sliding into a delicious ripple of pleasure as he licked the sting away with a flick of his tongue before diving back between her lips. Ozpin’s hand reached up to place her hips back where he had them before sliding once more down the length of her leg to swipe off the combat boot and expose a stockinged foot. Grabbing the arch, he hoisted her leg even higher and Pyrrha gripped the edge of a shelf with her toes as she doubled her efforts on kissing him as deeply as she could. 

All the evenings of learning to kiss him hadn’t prepared her for the moment when she could release the carefully held first-and-foremost concept of modesty and dive into a deeper, lustful need for his mouth doing exactly as it was doing to her own. Every time she had tried to convince him for more, he had gently teased her and stood firmly on his belief that courtship was sweetened with time. Perhaps he was right or perhaps she had kept her desires so checked that the unfulfilled fantasies coming to fruition were nearly overwhelming. She welcomed it, hardly thought of propriety as she willed an image to come to mind of what exactly she’d wanted to do with him on this study floor.

_All in good time, _he promised, rocking his hips sharply against her with one swift motion so she could feel the length of him before he pulled his hips away and tasted her skin while she regained control of her wobbling knees. Her body rarely ever defied her and now she had to focus entirely on staying upright, his lips taunting from against her shoulder and pushing her both farther away from all sense of what she knew of herself and closer to what she had yet to learn.__

____

____

A hint of naïve hesitation caught her breath as she dared do what she wished to do for weeks now, blood rushing to her cheeks even as the rest of her pulsed along with his own rapid heartbeat. She was thankful he couldn’t catch her in his amber glance, couldn’t accidentally influence her decisions one way or another through the silent communication that became second-nature to their chaste interactions. With his face buried in the hollow of her collarbone, his breath tickling the tops of her breasts as he breathed her in, she hardly thought twice about pulling him even closer to her. 

The headmaster gave a low, soft moan as Pyrrha ran one hand back up to his tousled hair and the other hand down from the grip on his crumpled velvet jacket, cupping him in one gloved palm. Heat raced along her nerves down into the pit of her stomach, desire overtaking her momentary flash of trepidation, and the huntress nearly shook for want of him when he growled deeper, his quiet sigh becoming a hint of what was truly to come. Momentarily slowed for Pyrrha’s exploration, parted enough for a sliver of bright sunlight to slip between their forms, Ozpin allowed her just a second of breath before nipping in invitation at her lips. Gripping the top of the knot of the scarf bound around her waist, he pulled her back to him in a languid tug at the scarlet cloth until he could feel her flush against his hips once more.

Ozpin let her continue to press him against the shelves, built her back up to the pace she met with him with until her softer form pressed completely against his own as her mouth crushed against his skin. Flashes of desperation and despair burned away as the headmaster went from teasing to indulgent once more, Pyrrha’s arms wrapping around his neck as she breathed her approval into his ear. Bodies flooded with fire, blood racing to send hearts into rapid rhythm. Ozpin caught her eyes with his and smiled a small smile before assessing her with his amber gaze: he was calculating, fiercely intelligent, and entirely focused on what would make them both tremble with pleasure. 

She moved to grip his jaw in her hands when he seized the moment to pull her hips up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She wasn’t a waif but instead a huntress nearing her full physical capability, all sleek muscles and smooth curves as she momentarily worried about throwing him off balance were she to shift her weight unexpectedly. Pyrrha didn’t have to think long to recall his power and prowess in the battle arena, first against her and then siding with her against Qrow; she knew he was strong but underestimated him nonetheless. She tried to hold back a gasp when he reminded her they were in contest with the other for dominance at this moment, the huntress adding an edge to their touch with a slip of her thoughts to relinquish to him and yet possess him as fully as she wished him to possess her. He flipped her back against the shelves and pinned her arms over her head with one hand, an arm wrapped around her so she knew he was entirely determined to claim victory in their heated exchange. If Pyrrha wanted to share dominance with him, passing control back and forth between their desperate forms, this was what she would reckon with when she gave him all of herself.

The huntress held her breath as Ozpin kissed his way across her shoulders, nipping at her collarbone and sucking at her neck; the first reverent hesitation at the top of her breasts made her gasp before the headmaster danced across the delicate skin with suddenly tender lips. His breath against her pulse made her wish for nothing more than all of her skin to be exposed to his ministrations and his hand holding her wrists dropped to stroke her fiery hair. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, nestling himself in the scent of her, and he felt her hands come down to pull him closer yet and hold him firmly, possessively, against her breast. 

Even in the blinding rush of lust, he found comfort and contentment in her touch, and knew her tolerance for his worship of her would grow low eventually. She had already declared her conditions on where she needed him to see her for who she thought she was and not yet who she would be, but the huntress didn’t quite understand that his awe of her wasn’t for the Maiden-spirit she would possess but for the rare radiance Pyrrha Nikos already held within her. 

All thoughts of contest abandoned in the rushing pulse of her neck, blood thrumming under her flushed skin, Ozpin listened to the radiant symphony of her body under his direction. Her hands, warm where they nested in his thick hair, massaged his scalp gently as she grew accustomed to his proximity. She kept him clutched close to her heart and under its steady beat, as he ran his own hand over the ribs that would have caged a knife had he not intervened, he began to cry. 

 

\---

 

It didn’t feel right to leave him. 

If this had happened any other day, any other night, she could have stayed. They could have rested together, fit tightly against the other on the settee, until they decided to retire to a larger and more comfortable place to continue their explorations of each other. They could have tracked the sun in its sweep across the floor and talked for hours of anything and everything. They could have rested and slept as new lovers would, waking to explore the other and hear every story they wanted to share with the other half of their hearts now that they’d found one another. No one would have disturbed them anyone who dared breathe intrusion would have found nothing but peace and passion between two souls that couldn’t have seemed less alike at the start of their journey to find the other.

But, for all the capability Ozpin had to stop time, some things could not be helped.

Through the heat of their passion, Pyrrha stopped them from disrobing, and Ozpin’s concern fell from his brow as she shared a single imagined image. It was of them, waking together in the morning, after the festivities of the evening allowed them more time than they could have possibly had together in the study. Them, undisturbed and unrushed, curled under the sheets of her cushioned bed. She kissed his cheek when he nodded, once but firm, his consent.

“Just to say it aloud, just so you’ve heard me clearly,” she smiled, refusing to be shy even as she resisted the blush that continued to threaten her when she looked at his disheveled state, “Nothing will change between now and tonight. I need you with me tonight, Oz. Even if just to be by my side while we sleep. Promise me?”

In a giddy state of exhaustion, rare considering his stamina and compounded by his emotional release, Ozpin smiled back, nodding before letting himself disappear momentarily into her vivid green eyes.

“I rarely promise, carah, and it is even rarer that I can keep those promises,” he murmured, pulling her back to him as she offered her hand in assistance to rise from the settee. Her blush deepened but her form rested against his own in a certainty he anticipated craving throughout the rest of their time together, spanning far beyond a single afternoon apart and well into timelines Pyrrha likely hadn’t fully imagined. He thought of those future moments, both planned and stolen, and nodded again.

“I will always want to sleep by your side,” he promised, the words heavy on his tongue even as they flew from his mouth in honest joy. “I will always look forward to seeing you in the evenings, carah, and the mornings and everything in between. My heart and everything of this mortal frame will always look forward to reuniting with you, Pyrrha, but our souls are never separated from the other. We’re always with each other, as long as you wish it to be.”

The only response of any worth she knew of, the only action that could come close to the unexpected declaration Ozpin just made, was to press her lips to his, sealing his vow with her own. 

Although she would have loved nothing more than to remain curled at his side, or share in meditation by her forest stream, or take his hand and be guided through the Mountain Glenn of his past, Pyrrha stood and only looked back once on her way out of the study. When she glanced at him, clothes mussed and glasses akimbo from their tenuous perch on the bridge of his nose, she saw Ozpin as she desired to see him since they began this terrifying, glorious, world-saving journey: as a man, with a glint of true hope caught in the amber of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all seriousness (for as much seriousness as a non-canon ship like this can muster), delaying this chapter really dragged the rest of the story down. I'm looking forward to however much is left because we've finally established them both. Now back to some semblance of a long-term goal of a plot.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: this chapter was written before the events of S.6, Ep.3 (I literally moved several states over and started a new gig so working on this fic has been wayyyyyy backburner). 
> 
> As I'm a long shot from even attempting to adhere to canon and I have this fic pretty well laid out for plot and ending, we're not adjusting course. Full speed ahead to where we were going with this to begin with! Also, remember, Nora-with-an-"h" is how we do things around here.

Closed to all except guests for specific events, the ballroom was a rare sight for Beacon students, a forbidden part of the school that held no more allure to most than a piece of stale toast.

When Glynda Goodwitch was the Deputy Headmistress, she forbade students to dirty the areas of the school where guests would most likely mingle, including the grand foyer in the East wing, a small but comfortable dining hall for distinguished visitors, and a ballroom of comparable size to an average battle stage. First Years were dared by older students to sneak out of bed and pick the lock while Glynda was on evening patrol. Not only were they risking an out-of-bounds punishment from the most severe of professors, they’d earn extra whoops and cheers if they left a small bit of trash, a gum wrapper or bit of torn paper, at the far end of the ballroom to push their luck with the combat professor’s patience. For a school whose attendees were willing to risk life and limb to defeat the evilest creatures known to Remnant, this known snippet of Beacon student culture was still a hilariously terrifying moment when Glynda’s boots clacked sharply in the distance. She never eased on her detentions but also never locked the ballroom door with anything but a traditional, uninfluenced lock-and-key set.

Now, with Glynda gone, students generally avoided the guest areas of the East wing. Some took the opportunity to look around and realize it was nothing but a stuffy space for boring people to have boring conversations. Most students had no reason to venture to that part of the school to begin with. With the Vytal Festival, much of the East wing was dormitory space for Haven and Atlas, including more than adequate guest quarters for their professors and kingdom delegates, and few looked twice at the relatively simple double-doors that were no longer even locked shut.

That afternoon, as the majority of Team RWBY prepared for the dance, the large doors were flung open and banged off the walls as Weiss forced Ruby and Yang to assist in preparing the room for the grand party that would formally declare the start of the Vytal Festival. Students paused to watch the girls work, along with help from Team GLMR and the trio of Team JNPR before Weiss threatened them in similar fashion to Glinda herself and warned they’d be put to work if they just stood there and gawked.

The flurry of life and the promise of watching Ruby undoubtedly re-purpose decorations promised amusement and laughter, something Pyrrha knew she needed after the weight of the last few hours. This was not a time for quiet distance. It was a time for jubilee, laughter, and spontaneity, even if she struggled to know what exactly she needed at the moment besides the normalcy of her friends.

“Pyrrha!”

Ruby called to the red-headed huntress across the expanse of dance floor, voice echoing off the marble pillars before dissipating into the arched domes above.

“Pyrrha, are you okay?!”

“Of course she’s okay,” Weiss cut across Ruby’s shouting. The heiress never turned from where she leaned over her stuffed binder, the contents of which were spread out before her on an undressed table. “She wouldn’t be one of the best if she couldn’t handle a-“

The compliment was lost as Ruby nearly knocked Weiss off balance as the youngest classmate used her Semblance to speed across the room and catch Pyrrha in an embrace. The huntress found herself clasped tight, startled, as Ruby continued to rattle off her concerns.

“That was so scary when Ironwood shot the knife out of Mercury’s hand! You were so brave! Did you know it was him? The same person who hurt Blake? You-“

Yang turned away from Pyrrha and Ruby at the mention of Mercury Black, her back stiffening as her fight to keep her temper under control was obvious from all the way across the ballroom. Pyrrha tuned out of Ruby’s blather, even as she was appreciative for the love and support, to watch Yang clench and unclench her fists before smashing a table as casually as though she dropped a piece of trash in a wastebasket. Her frustration sated just enough that her control could win over the overflow of fury, Yang stomped off to go get a broom as Weiss admonished her that now they were a table short.

“Ironwood didn’t tell me it was Mercury,” Pyrrha shared, putting her trust in Ruby while the others around them were preoccupied. “I didn’t know he’d be in the arena or try to actually hurt me. Don’t tell the others yet but I’m not sure if I remember everything correctly. To be honest, that fight wasn’t a trap to catch Mercury… at least, not on purpose.”

Ruby rocked back on her heels, letting go of Pyrrha and bringing a hand to her pointed chin in thought.

“Something felt weird this morning, during your fight,” she said, a grumble to her childish tone. “I think it was breakfast. My stomach went all funny and I was dizzy – I wasn’t feeling great and missed some of your fight, even though I was really trying to focus. I felt better after Ironwood showed up. My stomach still feels goopy, though, thinking about how close he was to stabbing you.”

“Pyrrha wouldn’t have actually been stabbed,” Jaune scoffed, coming up behind them with an unusually subdued Norah at his side. “She’s too good. That’s why Ironwood picked her to bluff until the time was right. Now he can spill about Cinder.”

“That’s why you stayed behind when we were dismissed from the meeting on Ironwood’s ship!” Jaune continued, Pyrrha thinking quickly about any reaction that wouldn’t give away the fact she couldn’t explain why she had the same sense of unease Ruby described at the end of her match. What she now knew was not hers to share; yet another secret stacked between her and her friends.

While others had the rest of the morning to review the dramatics of their classmate’s role in the dramatic capture of a wanted fugitive, she was giving her heart, body, and soul to a man who admitted his first-hand influence of Remnant’s ancient history. Her friends had drawn their own conclusions to the most exciting part of their day as spectators to a battle Pyrrha could hardly believe was only that morning and wasn’t anywhere near her most pressing concern at the moment. She had almost been stabbed by a man who put her best friend in a hospital room and yet her thoughts pulled to Ozpin’s quiet, humble tears as he returned her kisses.

Norah’s wide blue eyes watched Pyrrha as her teammate moved through the motions, smiling and clasping her hands as the red-headed huntress listened to Jaune and Ruby chatter over the sound of wood sliding on wood as Yang slapped chairs around the ballroom floor. Norah alone saw the nervous tug of Pyrrha’s fingers against the fabric of her gloves, the tightness in her smile, and read the energy that came from someone hiding something they desperately wanted to keep to themselves.

“You were in on the plan right away,” Jaune laughed, Pyrrha’s involvement nearly one big prank pulled on the schools participating in the Vytal Festival. “They wanted to get Mercury and you helped ‘em! No one else would have risked their life like that and here you come, Pyrrha Nikos, ready to save the day and get a few extra points in the tournament rankings! You could have at least told us.”

Pyrrha frowned, her eyebrows drawn together in distaste not only for Jaune’s flippant perspective of the situation but how the last qualifying match had turned out in her absence.

“Tournament rankings?” Pyrrha repeated, tilting her head in focus. “What do you mean, extra points?”

“You’re at the top!” Ruby squeaked, clutching her hands under her chin and hot-stepping in excitement with her combat boots. “Your fight was so good and you were so brave to take on Mercury that they gave you bonus points. Everyone thinks you’ve as good as won the tournament already! Well, that is, if they didn’t think so already-”

“That’s ridiculous,” Pyrrha stammered, looking back and forth between Ruby’s and Jaune’s grinning faces. “It wasn’t-“

“Are we going to stand around all day or are we going to work?”

Weiss brandished room diagrams at them all, injecting herself in the middle of the small crowd gathered around Pyrrha. The tables, chairs, linins, and décor were scattered throughout the room, organized and color-coded according to each list and instruction Weiss shoved into their hands as they gaped at her.

“Assign yourselves or I’ll assign you,” she threatened. “If my sister gets so much as a splinter from this decrepit ballroom, you’re all going Grimm hunting in nothing but your pajamas!”

 

\--

 

Ruby glumly modeled the red dress, shoulders slumped and arms crossed, as her friends whistled and clapped. Yang, hanging upside down from Ruby’s tentatively rigged bunk bed, whooped in appreciation.

“Look at you! Dad’ll want pictures!”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

Ruby’s whine was nearly sweet under her pitchy tone but the resemblance to her Uncle Qrow made them all laugh harder before reassuring their youngest teammate she only had to wear the dress for a few hours. Short of ripping it to shreds, she could do whatever she pleased to the short and fluffy maroon affair and Weiss would return it, and the rest of the rental gowns, via carrier in the morning. As Norah gleefully shimmied into her own pink dress, cotton-candy ruffles billowing her sleeves, Ruby dropped to her knees to resume her search for her combat boots.

“I told you, don’t bother looking for them,” Weiss reminded her airily, comparing earrings against the fabric of her own white evening dress. “They’re hidden until tomorrow.”

“First my skirt, and then my hood, and now my boots,” Ruby muttered, muffled as she rummaged deep under Blake’s bed for any sign of her usual trappings.

“Don’t forget she nixed your date,” Yang reminded unhelpfully, poking fun at both her sister and her teammate for the argument they carried on about nearly all afternoon to the point where even Norah insisted they put the matter to rest.

“Crescent Rose is not a dance partner!”

“Who says I’ll be dancing?”

Weiss threatened to stomp her strappy wedges, a shimmering hairband clenched tight in her fist as she prepared for another round while Ruby tried to wiggle out from under the bed and nearly got stuck in her rush to restart the fight. Norah, spinning to whirl her dress out around her knees and admire the effect, danced between the two and interrupted Weiss to ask to borrow a pair of small jade earrings that had come along in the heiress’ expansive closet.  While Norah looked entirely comfortable and happy in her fluffy pink, and Ruby sullen and uncomfortable in her deep red and black mesh, Weiss outclassed them both in the plain white dress she accented with enough opal jewelry to put most Vale jewelry stores to shame.

“Yang, are you going to go the way you’re dressed?”

Weiss’ tone was softer, less an observation and more an apology as everyone, to that point, had ignored Yang’s own borrowed dress sitting crumpled on Blake’s bed. The blond-haired beauty herself was in yellow pajamas, her hair unbrushed and messy around her face, and Norah stopped twirling to watch for the reaction everyone was nervously dreading all evening. Under all the excitement, Blake’s absence was never more apparent than when Yang was in the room and hurt them all to note that they were missing a friend for what was supposed to be one of the best nights of their time at Beacon.

“I- I don’t think I’m going,” Yang said, pulling herself upright and rolling to a corner of the swaying bunk bed, her hair a golden waterfall spilling over the edge in tangled waves.

“Blake would want you to have a good time,” Pyrrha dared, saying what she knew everyone wanted to say and couldn’t bring themselves to speak. “She’d want you to enjoy yourself.”

“How do you know what she wants?”

Yang’s tone left the question unanswered and Pyrrha realized her fears weren’t unfounded that some of her friends still held her partly associated with the whole mess that landed Blake on the Atlasian airship to begin with. Qrow allowing Blake to put herself in the middle of the danger rather than insist she skirt around it, and Ozpin for turning an eye to Blake’s comings and goings, created a difficult mix for Pyrrha to reconcile herself but, ultimately, Blake’s decisions were her own. That allowed the huntress to see the situation with less guilt, especially after her conversation with Ruby, but Yang’s protectiveness over Blake created an unspoken division of who she did and did not hold to blame. Pyrrha was now affirmed of her place in Yang’s world until convinced otherwise but she knew something Yang herself didn’t, until now.

Standing tall from where she had been leaning against Blake’s bed, gathering a hairbrush from the dresser as she crossed the room, Pyrrha took a risk that could split her from Yang even farther than she already was or pull them as tight together as they ever had been. The others watched on out of the corners of their eyes as they busied themselves, Ruby with finding any sign of her huntress gear and Norah trying to find a ring with Weiss that would match the jade earrings, and Pyrrha pushed a smile into her voice.

“Would you like me to help you brush your hair?”

“No, thank you,” Yang answered without hesitation, polite but unable to keep the sadness from her voice as she was torn between her anger and her friendship to the red-headed huntress.

“I would be as careful as Blake,” Pyrrha pushed gently.

“It wouldn’t be the same. Everyone else puts knots in it. She knows how-“

The sudden silence was all that was needed to assure Pyrrha that all would be well and she left the brush near Yang’s arm as the blonde went completely still before rolling again to face Pyrrha with shocked violet eyes.

“How long have you known?”

Yang’s question was speckled with wonder, painted with hesitation, and Pyrrha’s grin was authentic when Yang’s mouth opened in a quiet, surprised gasp.

“For a little while now. Longer than you’ve known, I think?”

Pyrrha’s answer seemed satisfactory enough for Yang to crack a full smile through her embarrassed blush. Giving her time to think, leaving Yang time to shaping herself back into some appearance of the young woman they all knew best, Pyrrha helped Norah and Weiss sort through the glimmering array of gems and metals in the jewelry box. Yang wasn’t ready to share and, until she found the words to navigate her own thoughts on why she missed Blake so much that the ache rippled across her, no one needed to know.

As the three grew a conversation from subdued excuse from silence to raucous laughter, Ruby joined in and the youngest huntress took her revenge on Weiss by blowing glitter and dusty bits from under the bed on her best friend’s newly painted nails. Everyone settled back into the fun of preparing for the dance and Yang couldn’t keep to herself any more, laughing playfully alongside the others when Norah gleefully added pink blobs to her own nails and Weiss finally recognized them as little lotus flowers. Eventually, after enough laughter and normalcy, the blonde slid off the bunk and grabbed the hairbrush, along with the rumpled dress, and made her way to the mirror Weiss propped in a corner of the room.

“Okay, Pyrrha, you’re the only one not ready,” Ruby pointed out as she helped Yang zip the dress Weiss had custom altered just for her fiery teammate, Yang’s measurements far more robust than Weiss herself in certain and highly noticeable ways. It was still a stretch to fit but, once Yang was certain everything would stay where she wanted it, Team RWBY would be set to arrive at the ballroom early enough to double-check everything before greeting the first guests of the evening.

“I only need the dress,” Pyrrha answered, waving to the garment bag hanging off a corner of Yang’s bed, Weiss scoffing once more that she disagreed on Pyrrha’s preference to wear her hair and headdress exactly how she always did instead of allowing the heiress to style it. She had allowed Weiss to apply a soft sheen of eyeshadow and blush, more to show Ruby that makeup was in no way going to hurt her and Weiss would do to her exactly and no more than what she did to Pyrrha. The subtle glow made Pyrrha feel no more beautiful than she did when she walked out of the private study high in Beacon’s tallest tower that morning and Ruby had tolerated a kitten’s paw touch of the brush to her own face before devolving into good-natured bickering over why Weiss insisted on torturing her teammates.

“I’ll stay and help Pyrrha,” Norah said, shooing Yang out the door the moment the zipper finally latched at the back of the dress and nearly pushing Weiss and Ruby out after her. “See you soon! Don’t trip and break your face, Ruby!”

Ruby’s groan joined the staggered clacking of her unfamiliar heels as the three girls made their way down the dormitory hallway, Norah’s chuckle fading as she busied herself in redoing her nails, wiping away the interpretive flowers while Pyrrha dressed in silence.

“Pyrrha?”

“Yes, Norah?”

As the red-haired huntress checked for any snags or threads that could ruin the borrowed gown, she kept an eye on her teammate crouched over the dresser-turned-vanity to finish the last quick-drying nail. Norah’s eyebrows wrinkled and she wet her lips as she found the words she wanted and Pyrrah took the charged silence to mean something else entirely.

“You won’t step on Ren,” Pyrrha assured cheerfully, rummaging at the bottom of the garment bag for any shoes that would have been included with the dress. “Jaune wanted some dance practice before tonight and I caught them rehearsing the other day. If Ren can avoid Jaune’s feet, he can avoid-“

“Pyrrha, it isn’t that.”

Norah’s tone was curious for the freckled huntress, the worry so obvious that Pyrrha turned quickly to look at her friend and teammate to see if she was alright. Through the pale pink, Norah watched Pyrrha in return, both watching the other with concern resting open on their faces. Norah broke the connection first, crossing the room to her clothes and rummaging briefly in a pocket; she closed her hand over something small and hid it from view as she turned to approach Pyrrha.

“Before I ask this, I want you to know I’m not trying to pick a fight or restart any of what we’ve already covered when it comes to what you can or cannot share with us about your training,” Norah said, nearly shy before finding her courage. “It takes more strength to stand up to a friend than to a whole herd of Ursa, so know this isn’t easy on me to bring this up, especially tonight, but I haven’t exactly gotten you alone lately. You’re always gone and, after you come back from training with Qrow or Winter or whoever, you have a lot on your mind when you do have time with us.”

As Pyrrha started to open her mouth, Norah continued over the top of her, fingers clenched tight over the object she hid from Pyrrha’s sight. The usual bold, curious tone took over the strawberry-blonde as she ramped up her momentum to get to her point.

“No, this is important and I’ve already explained how hard this is,” Norah shared, and Pyrrha nodded silently, suddenly and extraordinarily nervous.

“Is there something going on that you don’t want to be part of, Pyrrha? Is everything alright when you go to study or practice those long hours?”

“We’ve already talked about this, I think,” Pyrrha smiled, pushing aside her worry to reassure Norah before they had to discuss what she thought they’d all settled days ago.

“Ren hears you when you sneak in or out at night, even when the rest of us are sleeping,” Norah said, keeping herself from reaching to grip Pyrrha’s limp hand. “Jaune and I didn’t think anything of it besides what you told us but Ren always thought there was something more going on beyond that training you can’t tell us about. You know how he sees those details. He mentioned how someone as detailed as Professor Ozpin could neglect to notice a button missing on his jacket. It isn’t one he wears often, apparently. Ren says it is more of a winter coat because it has more velvet on it than some of the others and I don’t really understand how that has much to do with the fact that some fabrics are winter fabrics and others aren’t because I always thought winter outfits were- anyway, you see my point. Pyrrha, I realized where this came from.”

In Norah’s hand was a sleek metal button, round and very obviously missing from the Headmaster’s aforementioned jacket.

Pyrrha stood there, dress draped awkwardly across her tall frame as she watched Norah cross the room in all her ruffled glory to sit on Weiss’ bed expectantly. The way she crossed her knees and tapped her foot told the red-haired huntress all she needed to know: there was little time to talk before Weiss would undoubtedly send someone to come fetch them if they didn’t show up to help soon but Norah wasn’t going anywhere without a halfway decent explanation of that which Pyrrha could no longer keep entirely to herself.

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You’re not denying it?”

Norah’s voice was nearly a squeal of excitement as she rambled on, standing to spin around the room to free herself of the energy that was no longer pent up and nervous. Flopping back down, she picked at an invisible stray thread on her skirt.

“See, I asked Ren what he thought you were up to and then he didn’t want to say anything because he said he said you two talked before the holiday break but then I askedJauneandhehadnothingexceptthatyoumighttransferoutandthatwaswhyyouwerebeingsecretive-“

“He tried to transfer me to Atlas,” she admitted, slowly resuming adjusting her dress and watching Norah in the mirror as she turned her back to her teammate. The symbolism in it was not lost on the young huntresses and Pyrrha squirmed inwardly at having to find words to describe the unusual but nonetheless essential connection she had with the Headmaster.

“I know General Ironwood and Winter would welcome me but it isn’t where I belong. I should be here at Beacon, for as long as I can be.”

“You’d hate Atlas,” Norah agreed casually, false flippancy noted. “I didn’t take Professor Ozpin for a dirty old man.”

“Its not like that, Norah,” Pyrrha corrected, realizing that was what everyone said when they had to defend their unconventional partner, then realizing again that she had a partner to explain about. The moment was confusing, the liberating sense of normalcy clashing with the completely ridiculous situation she agreed to that led to all this to begin with. She had just told Ozpin several hours ago that she knew him so well as to see his failings and care for him in spite of them, perhaps even because of them in some cases. She committed herself to him time and time again, his commitments to her resting as precious treasure in the soul she shared openly with him. And here she was, embarrassed at not having much more to say besides a generic response as to defend his character.

“Can we do this after the dance?”

“Where are you going to be after the dance?”

Norah’s snappy retort caught Pyrrha’s tongue and the space before she even began to come up with a response was all her classmate needed to smile knowingly before bursting into giggles.

“Does anyone else know?” she asked as Pyrrha’s face flashed the color of her hair before she regained her composure, Norah continuing to roll on the bed in sporadic reactionary swings between amused and confused.

Pyrrha shook her head as she polished a smudge from her headdress. Her mind raced through any sort of perspective she could share that wouldn’t completely bare her most intimate relationship before she realized Norah wasn’t digging for scandalous details but was herself nervous to ask if this was something Pyrrha wanted. Eyes widening as she found Norah’s friendship one of the best things she had ever taken for granted, she allowed herself her own slight smile.

“I didn’t expect this, either,” Pyrrha said, trying to focus on her words as nothing less than a firm answer to assuage Norah’s worry. “I agreed to study with Ozpin and we had to become comfortable with one another because of the nature of what we’re doing. It was as much of a surprise to him as it was to me, finding ourselves missing the other or thinking about each other when we weren’t required to.”

“Yeah, I don’t think about Doctor Oobleck when I’m not in class,” Norah scrunched her face, trying to understand.

“How many times do you work with aura in class with Oobleck? Over and over again, trying to-“

Pyrrha stopped herself, more afraid to give away the Maiden’s secret and her role in harnessing a mythical power than she was about admitting to her friend and teammate that she cared for the most secretive and powerful hunter known to Remnant.

“Because you’re studying aura, you’re in love with the Headmaster?”

The fact Norah’s statement was absent a snort of disbelief at the end was the cushion Pyrrha was hoping for but the room temporarily fell away when she focused on one word in particular. As Pyrrha’s shoulders tensed, then slumped before the huntress pulled herself to her full height, pretending to focus on the movement of the gown, Norah could see Pyrrha’s green eyes clouding. She gave her teammate a few heavy moments to finish polishing her headdress before watching Pyrrha slide the gold circlet over her hair and shake out a few strands that caught on the shimmering peridot stones.

“No, that’s turning it into something it isn’t,” Pyrrha explained, brushing the bottom of her long ponytail. “The first time I unlocked someone’s aura, it was by absolute accident. It was a girl in my class, and she was so upset that it happened with me that she never spoke to me again. I didn’t understand why until a year later when we learned it could be considered an intimate situation, something personal and private. That didn’t make sense to me, and Atlas doesn’t teach it that way, but Haven does. Whenever I helped someone with their aura, we found a practice room or an empty classroom, and we muddled through it the best we could without formal training. There were a few of us who were skilled at it and we treated it as something so life altering as to require a special relationship. It took me a long time to trust myself to do that for others and understand why they had to trust me in return. Someone like Winter or General Ironwood could unlock someone’s aura, if they have the skill, in a classroom setting in Atlas without issue or complaint. Have you noticed we don’t do that in the classroom here at Beacon?”

“Well, everyone’s aura should be unlocked by the time they get here,” Norah countered, scoffing.

“But that isn’t true for all of us,” Pyrrha said, keeping the secret of unlocking Jaune’s aura from Norah lest she breech another level of trust with her teammates. Their first year, on their team-pairing mission, something would have happened to Jaune if she hadn’t intervened. She hadn’t unlocked an aura in a long time before that, too many victories and trophies and seemingly easy wins setting her apart from her classmates to the point everyone avoided her either because they placed her on a pedestal or were envious of what her hard work brought her. She remembered being nervous for a heartbeat before touching her hand to Jaune’s breastplate, reciting a snippet from a philosophy text she used to ground her thoughts and focus her own energies on the task at hand.

_“For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death.”_

She added a line at the end, always, to make the moment her own. Call it youthful melodramatics or a poetic tone to a technical process but Pyrrha recalled her own amendments to an otherwise underwhelming textbook in one of her first advanced reasoning courses at Haven.

_“I release your soul and by my shoulder protect thee.”_

Another squeeze at her heart as she realized she knew more now about Remnant’s lore and about aura and Semblance manifestation than she ever had before being drawn as a participant into the Maiden’s living story but she knew even less about the heart and soul than she thought she knew before meeting Ozpin. It wasn’t something to plan to know, Pyrrha thought, but something that happened in surprising and unforeseen ways; to be ready for it was the false lead. You can never be ready for the death of family or the generosity and kindness following tragedy. You can never be ready for the day a little nudge toward an interest becomes a passion and then becomes a profession. You can never be ready for the celestial voice beckoning with a wailing song, for a mug of hot chocolate in front of a fireplace late at night, for the betrayal of loved ones and the salvation of the self-damned in a pool of blood on the worn floors of a seedy pub.

The mirror of Qrow’s blood in her mind combined with the infinite waters of the Maiden, stars and planets swirling in the shocking maroon of her memory, and Pyrrha took a deep breath before coming back to herself to cut through Norah’s chatter.  

“Norah-“

The strawberry blonde was rolling around on the bed, yammering away as she ticked off some list on her fingers and Pyrrha took a big breath before trying again.

“Norah!”

Her teammate put two feet to the floor, wide blue eyes watching her friend expectantly, a combination of curiosity and humor smoothing her eyebrows into the usual cheery girl Pyrrha knew best.

“Have you told Ren?”

The huntress watched Norah’s hands grip the hem of her skirt tight in response. For all the denial, Norah and Ren were as tight as tight could be, a yin and yang made to fit each other, and Norah knew it. She loved her friend as only best friends could love each other but they were no strangers to the pangs of the heart. How many times had Jaune and Pyrrha exchanged knowing looks as Ren walked out of the dorm with Norah’s gaze following? How many times had Norah blushed, thinking no one would notice, when she caught Ren already smiling at her when she was looking for him across the room? It was so obvious that no one teased them, pushed them together, taunted them with who one was talking to when the other wasn’t around. It was natural. It made sense. She could think of no other way to impress upon her friend that how she felt wasn’t a slovenly excuse for a quick, carnal time with whomever was most malleable.

“I trust Ozpin completely,” Pyrrha shared, coming to kneel in front of her friend and grabbing one of Norah’s hands. “I have had to trust him with far more than my own life. I was scared and confused when I had to make a choice to start training to- to handle what is coming next. It wasn’t until recently that I found out how upset Ozpin was with himself for all this, for the necessity of what needs to happen in the coming months. He’s tried to stop this entirely, thinking of what my best interests could be, but I wanted to continue. Norah, if this has to happen, I’m glad I have him. Not because I don’t want to go through it alone but because I want to go through this with someone who understands my heart and sees my soul.”

Flashing memories of tapestry goddesses and crackling flames revealing ebony creatures from their shadowy corners flitted across Pyrrah’s mind and heralded Ozpin’s attention, his interest turning to slight concern when he felt how rapidly her heart beat as she continued to find where a certain word fell in relationship to all those images.

A sense of kindness and soft warmth welled in at the corners of her thoughts as she sensed Ozpin’s presence, the professor continuing to review and dissect the work at his desk before resigning himself to the formalities of the dance staring far below his tower office. She knew his pleasure at the company of guests to Beacon Academy, the pride he took in the school and its part in fostering friendships and life-long connections, and yet his desire for the evening to end. She felt the worry in the back of his thoughts for Ironwood’s behavior, fleeting flashes of Atlas roving through his head, and the weight of diplomacy on his shoulders. Everyone attending this evening would need something from him.

While students danced, trade deals would be struck between visiting businessmen. While Beacon and Atlas teased Haven and Vacuo, military and cultural influences would gather over drinks nearby. How careful a balancing act between her want to be a carefree student and the necessity of what her fame brought her. She had fun setting up in the ballroom that afternoon, laughed until her sides were sore when helping her friends get ready, felt as naive and carefree as she felt since her first day at Beacon Academy. Now, with Norah being the first to place a name to the feeling that caused flutters, what would she slip to the others? Blake knew more than she would let on, her slips during Team RWBY’s campfire bonding on their last training session out with Qrow betraying she, too, just wanted to feel like a girl with the shared collective of her friends bolstering whatever came her way. How much would change when they all knew?

_Even when they know, they might not understand._

Ozpin’s words recalled sharply into the pit of her stomach as she opened her mouth, the fear of putting her friends at risk running over the seemingly perfect moment to tell her teammate why this all made more sense than she could explain herself. Just days ago, didn’t they stand in the courtyard together and make Pyrrha a promise they wouldn’t continue to pry as long as she was confident in her path? Norah knew more than she let on for quite some time; thinking back to that morning waiting for the Atlasian delegation to arrive for the Vytal Festival. Pyrrha wondered why she thought that would be the last of it. Her friends were too good to her, she thought, for what she was testing them with.

“Is this worth it, though?” Norah asked, clasping her hands with Pyrrha. “I know you said that, if you mastered what it is that you’re working on, it would change the world. What could you possibly be doing that all this made sense to begin with?”

The red-haired huntress smiled deep, resolute and knowing, and Norah wondered if anyone she had ever known in her life had ever been as certain as Pyrrha was in this moment. Something powerful, the magnitude of which she couldn’t guess, resonated through the touch of Pyrrha’s fingers wrapped in her own, and Norah shook her head fondly.

 “I don’t get it. But I love you anyway, Pyrrha.”

As the girls hugged, Norah nearly smearing her makeup on her teammate’s dress, Pyrrha thought of that word again and the numerous ways she experienced it. The love of Aunt May was unconditional, reassuring, always and ever present. The teammates and friends who were no less sisters to her than if she grew up with them all her life, that was also love and Pyrrha spent a long time chasing it until she finally found it at Beacon. Unexpectedly, the last kind, the kind that happens slowly and then all at once, came in the form of a man she had only just begun to see as a man. She held him as he cried just that very morning, just a short while after he likely saved her life in the arena with Mercury, and the veneer of Headmaster had worn off to reveal the humanity underneath. It was more than wishing to know how he took his tea, or enjoying the occasionally verbose recollections of how he acquired different books for his private study, or even the sound of his heartbeat when she rested her head upon his chest.

Soul-deep, all of these loves, none of them beyond the other.

“You’re going to make me cry, so stop it,” Norah laughed as Pyrrha clutched her tight, a little squeeze thanking her for the risk she took in confronting, yet again, the secrets that pulled their teammate away more often than not. “Besides, you’re half dressed and Weiss is gonna kill us for being late.”

Pyrrha finished adjusting the dress and slipped on the low black heels she found at the bottom of the garment bag. As she brushed out the bottom of her long ponytail, Norah casually dropped the button into Pyrrha’s open school bag, smoothing a ruffled ruffle on her sleeve before something caught her eye.

“If you’re ready, I’m ready,” Pyrrha prompted, anxiety building in her throat for what excuses they were giving Weiss to give up all holds in the arena and throw every ounce of Dust she had at them should they have the misfortune of meeting as opponents during the tournament.

“Thought the professor might like this back,” Norah muttered as she brushed aside the button and loose papers to pull out a thin book bound with blue leather and aged metal clasps, “but what is this?! This isn’t a library book – it’s gorgeous.”

“Part of my individual studies involve the histories and mythologies of Remnant,” Pyrrha answered, glancing briefly at the text Norah held while she added a ring with a brilliant emerald stone to her hand from where it lay in the scatter of Weiss’ jewelry.

“And he just has books like this sitting around?”

“Well, the study houses most of them but he keeps many in my- the guest rooms.“

“Oooh, your room! That’s what you were going to say!”

Pyrrha shook her head, too proud to blush but unwilling to say anything more for propriety’s sake.

“He keeps the truly rare or dangerous ones in his private rooms but I haven’t seen those,” she did add, almost more to explain to Norah how truly studious they were in their time together. “We need to go.”

“What use are fairy tales when you’re training to save the world?” Norah insisted, flipping through the cracking pages with such vigor that Pyrrha nearly cringed for the sake of the book. “Wouldn’t you be doing something more useful if this was that important? Or, at least, more fun?”

“They all come from somewhere, these stories… Besides, what do you know of fun? You’re leaving Ren waiting,” Pyrrha teased, taking the book from Norah and tucking it back into the bag before taking Norah’s hand to pull her from the room.

“But I wanted to read it!”

“I’ll tell it to you on the way downstairs but we need to leave NOW!”

The huntresses laughed on their way down from the dormitories, passing other students on their way to the ballroom, and Pyrrha recalled the fable of a king who nearly destroyed his soul for the sake of his own greed.

“There once was a man...”

 

\--

 

Norah’s squeal of delight lit through Pyrrha as they took in the sights and sounds of what must have been a good quarter of Remnant milling around the edges of the ballroom floor. Tables surrounded the dance floor, dignitaries and businesswomen sipping bubbling drinks over pale blue charmeuse, student assistants and professional secretaries standing close by for whatever these guests may need.  Chairs lined the far walls, giving dancers and the socially inept alike a break from the warmth and noise of the vast space, and the heavy curtains draped away from windows to reveal the nighttime glitter of Vale in the distance. A small DJ booth tucked back in a corner waited its turn for the late night party twist so many of the students were looking forward to most, speakers and lighting arrays quiet but expectant under the music of a string orchestra set at the opposite end of the ballroom. A fine piano with glistening black veneer awaited a musician, a light cloth set over the keys as a woman nursed a drink with trembling hands nearby.

Golden chandeliers dripped elegant strands of crystal and pearl, lighting the room just right for dancers to see their partners and for business and pleasure at the tables but with plenty of shadowy nooks for hand-holders to plot their escape into the night. A grand and glorious marble staircase led to a huge balcony, young men jostling up and down in order to best see where their dates ran off to, and the fresh spring air kept the room from going stagnant with the heat of so many bodies twirling on the polished floor. Dresses caught the eye from every angle, some billowing and other shimmering, some understated and some intended to capture every moment, and all of them beautiful.

From across the room, Norah waved at Ruby and Yang, flinging her arms back and forth as though to wave down a passing herd of Ursa. Ruby, shuffling her feet and clutching a cup of punch with a miserable fist, lifted her chin in acknowledgement while Yang, looking nervously out at the crowd moments before catching her attention, brightened considerably upon seeing them both. The blonde gave Pyrrha a hot wink and quick thumbs up before being blocked from view by a group of Atlas girls giggling their way over to a group of Beacon boys, Jaune trying and failing to catch their eye. Ren broke away from the conglomerate only after taking a moment to place his jaw back where it belonged when he saw Norah. Within a breath, he recovered himself and smiled his usual demure pleasure at Norah’s presence but Jaune and Pyrrha both saw the flare of surprise and pure happiness on Ren’s face. An excuse to dress up broke the pattern of school uniforms and battle outfits they saw each other in every day and Norah, with her pink cupcake ruffles and jade jewelry, raised an eyebrow as one of the more unique representatives of Beacon Academy.

Before Norah dashed to meet Ren halfway across the dance floor, she grabbed Pyrrha’s arm in a brief hug, nearly pulling the red-haired huntress down by considerable amount to catch her ear.

“I spy, with my little eye, someone lookin’ for you!”

With the flurry customary to living with Norah, Pyrrha righted herself as the valkyrie dashed off to cause the punch cup to fling from Ren’s hand as she launched him into a quick-paced two-step completely against the style of the music. The huntress clasped her hands together to keep herself from demonstrating her nerves to those around her, knowing only one other in this room could feel what she felt when she looked for the one she wanted to see most. In the room, Atlas-white and Beacon-red mingled with the vast array of color and texture, Vacuo-gold and Haven-bronze blending the room into a myriad swirl. No sign of the deep green velvet she looked for above all others.

As she intended to reach out with her soul to his, a smirk from a nearby shadow caught her attention and two red eyes met her equally red dress approvingly.

“You clean up well, spitfire.”

She smiled at the hard-earned nickname and joined Qrow near the pillar where he sulked into his usual huntsman jacket. Although he kept the tattered rag of a cape, it appeared he made some attempt at cleanliness; even the edge of Harbinger’s folded form at his side had a recently polished gleam.

“I didn’t take you for the dancing type,” Pyrrha said, giving him a pointed look up and down in jesting return.

“Security,” he gruffed, rolling his eyes before slumping back against the stone pillar, scanning the crowd. “Especially after this morning, as you may have forgotten.”

“You’ve sobered up well enough,” she replied before catching herself in her unkindness, stuck between an apology and continuing on with her line of thought on how the red rims of his eyes and stubble of his jaw made him every bit the drunk he was regardless if he had a drop since last she saw him that morning.

“Careful,” Qrow bit back, continuing his search through the throng of dancers. “People are starting to notice you’ve arrived. Wouldn’t want them thinking you’re used to talking to the help, especially after your heroic exploits this morning. Helping Atlas and Beacon in a joint secret effort to capture a criminal, hah. And they all bought it.”

“If you’d act like the hunter you know you are rather than the sloppy mess you were this morning, Mercury maybe wouldn’t have stood as much of a chance to try to kill me. As you could barely fly straight, no one here would be any less impressed with you than they already are.”

Pyrrha nearly clapped her hand to her mouth to stop talking, unused to addressing others in such a manner. What was it about Qrow that pulled the worst from her thoughts and put them into spoken word? Qrow cackled, putting a foot up against the pillar behind him and leaving a scuff.

“While you and Oz locked yourselves away, I was out checking for any sign of your cousin and her pals,” he said, enjoying the spar while Pyrrha just wished she could end the conversation. “She’s still in Vale, somewhere. Now that we’ve got her little assassin locked away, we’ll see if she’ll leave him or send someone after him.”

“Which are we hoping for?”

“Either. Neither. So long as she makes an appearance anywhere,” was the answer Pyrrha didn’t want to hear. If Qrow was confident Cinder was near and wouldn’t leave the kingdom, she could worry less about Aunt May’s safety. If Ironwood believed Cinder to be on the move, she’d assume he would send troops after her without fear of retribution from Ozpin; the tension and frustration of having half of the Atlas military hovering over Vale was palpable in the back of Ozpin’s thoughts and Pyrrha knew his consideration came not from fear but from insult over the lack of necessity for it. Ironwood already expressed, time and time again the last few days in particular, that he believed he was doing the right thing when it came to security not only for the Vytal Festival but for Ozpin and Pyrrha as they neared the fought over transfer of powers from that prison of a cane. Now, with Mercury incarcerated on one of those airships drifting almost lazily across the starry sky, inky blue ribbons streaming behind, Pyrrha thought to look for the green-haired girl among the crowd.

“You’re not normally that deep in your flask by mid-morning,” she noted, a softer tone hinting at concern. “What happened so early in the day? Or so late last night?”

“That’s not your business and you know it,” Qrow pushed past his gritted teeth, continuing his search through the ballroom in creasing capacity by the minute. “I show up to your lessons more or less ready to handle your incompetence, don’t I?”

A hint of a smirk twisted the corner of his mouth where Pyrrha could see his humor, recalling the multiple occasions where she showed up to their combat lessons to find him thoroughly inebriated. Early in their training, she found it disrespectful and refused to take first strike; only after she found herself sprawled out after a good defensive effort did she realize Qrow perhaps fought better drunk than most did sober.

“Still, on a tournament day,” she countered, hoping and dreading any sign of Cinder’s female companion hiding among the dancers. “What’s the problem?”

“Let’s see,” Qrow answered after a pause, tightening the cross on his arms and the slump of his shoulders. “About five eleven, blue eyes, colder than the Bellivial Sea, and about as deep.”

Pyrrha’s mind momentarily stuck in the geography of the northernmost, and shallowest, sea on Remnant, missing Qrow’s point entirely until she saw the white coif of hair making a thin wake across the room. The crowd parted slightly to allow Winter Schnee, top ranked among the highly regarded Specialists of the Atlasian Army and future Headmaster of Atlas Academy, respectful distance and not be crushed among the dancers or tables as she greeted others. Qrow turned away, catching Pyrrha looking for a glimpse of Winter’s face with a similar blend of eager anticipation and wariness as that of Winter’s own sister.

“Stay out of trouble tonight, spitfire,” he grumbled with a wink, leaving Pyrrha as she resisted the urge to ask him to stay and talk with her awhile. Although she could easily handle herself in a crowded room, she already wasn’t fond of the attention she received that afternoon while helping set up for this event and didn’t want to repeat the same conversation until her ears went numb to her own words. No, she wasn’t afraid when two kingdoms asked her to help them trap a criminal in a very public and very dangerous way. Yes, she felt safe because she was still a student and nothing would be allowed to happen to her. No, she didn’t anticipate it helping her tournament ranking but that was very kind of the kingdoms to place such high esteem in her abilities on her way to becoming a fully trained huntress.

“At least one of those things is true,” she said quietly to herself, knowing the Vytal Festival meant very little to her beyond one last opportunity at some semblance of a normal life as a student with her friends. She didn’t think the façade behind Mercury giving himself up to his enemies was something that could be scripted and structured for public consumption on such a scale but, as she listened to the tickling sense that something was still not right about the communal recollection of how that fight truly ended, Pyrrha forced herself to think positively. She was at a special event with her teammates and best friends, about to dance the night away with delicious food and drinks, and the evening would be over before she wanted it to be.

It was easy to push herself into the crowd after that, to join the rest of Team JNPR with a cup of punch, cheering Ren and Norah as Ren taught Norah a proper waltz. She offered to dance with Jaune but he turned bright red just moments into dancing with her and offered to go get her another drink instead, mumbling he didn’t want to embarrass her. Pyrrha’s confusion was short lived as she saw him ask one of the Atlasian girls to dance; she laughed good-naturedly as she turned him down and he came back with Pyrrha’s cup of punch and a dejected pout, agreeing to let her teach him a simple waltz similar to what the partners around them were doing.

Several young men from Vacuo and Haven asked her to dance but none seemed particularly interested in her rather than being seen with her. Graciously declining, Pyrrha enjoyed watching Ren and Norah flutter around the room, the two talking over the light sounds of the orchestra and din of the crowd as they spun without much sense of rhythm. Ruby and Yang leaned on Jaune to bring them more punch and the three huntresses had a great time weighing the odds of others ranked for the Tournament, picking out faces here and there and checking their stats on Yang’s scroll.

They were caught up in a video review of a team from Vacuo when Pyrrha felt the room shift, the soft corners of her heart sensing Ozpin before she saw him, and she turned to the conductor’s podium where Ozpin led Ironwood, Headmaster Lionheart, and Madam Ioinadora of Shade Academy. It wasn’t typical for headmasters to attend the Vytal Festival but, in this a unique year of celebration, Pyrrha was not the only one to raise her eyebrows at the amount of interest this group generated from the crowd.

Madam Ioinadora, with her greying dark hair twisted into elegant knots around her aged face, was the eldest among them (as far as anyone but Pyrrha was aware) and stood tall with help from her tangled staff. The gigantic ruby set at the top of the twisted wood loomed over her head and seemed more of a threat than a decoration; the facets caught light and threw it back across the crowd in a way that drew far more attention than most other gems would and there were mutters about the Vacuo leader using it to club her way through anyone who’d stand in her path. As there was no formal government, Shade Academy’s headmaster was as close as anyone would come to officially representing the Kingdom of Vacuo and she did so with such poise and grace that even Pyrrha was envious of her coolness. Her copper robes and red scarves billowed and she made Leonardo Lionheart positively shaggy in comparison.

Pyrrha recalled Headmaster Lionheart at the Mistral Tournaments, his warm smile and boisterous laugh inviting her to study at Haven Academy after each of her four wins, and the man in front of them hardly seemed the same as she remembered him. The Lionheart she recalled was slightly overweight in indulgence of life’s little pleasures, always well-dressed, and usually with more rings and bejeweled clasps to his overlarge brown cape than most well-to-do women in Haven. Despite his jovial nature, Pyrrha didn’t hold much opinion on Lionheart one way or the other, ultimately deciding Beacon Academy and Vale held what she wanted as both a future huntress and a girl desperate to get away from the spotlight and make friends for who she was off the battlefield. The headmaster now looked thinner than she remembered, the collars of his cream dress shirt rumpled under a now too large brown overcoat, no rings or gems anywhere in sight. There was more grey in his mane of hair, less bounce to his beard, and his eyes darted along the crowd gathering on the ballroom floor.

Ironwood was already looking at her when she turned to him, his cold grey eyes catching on her red hair, and she met his gaze with a respectful and differential tilt of her head. There was a time and place to acknowledge his mercurial shifting of loyalty but not now. She wasn’t going to fight on Ozpin’s behalf when it came to the General; in the time since he arrived to oversee security for the Vytal Festival, he had pitied her when he pitied no one, declared her a weakness to the good of the cause, allowed her and her classmates a place at his wartable on his flagship, and dedicated a safe place in his medical bay for Blake in her recovery. This while transferring dearly won political power to a future headmistress he himself chose at great risk to his own sway over the Kingdom of Atlas. Pyrrha suddenly felt a surge of regret for treating him poorly after he offered her a place at his academy, shuttled her himself back to Beacon after Qrow’s attack, and treated her as an honored guest during the brief but overwhelming visit to Atlas.

The General sent a soldier to stand guard over Aunt May to keep Pyrrha focused on her now ill-advised future transfer of the Maiden’s powers. He bore the knowledge of his failures as a protector, openly apologizing for his role in Amber’s death and the sanctioned murder of a former Maiden in the hands of his government. He gave them Winter’s precious time and attention, dedicated resources to Pyrrha’s training she likely didn’t know about, and yet she knew she owed him nothing despite the urge to apologize for her own shortcomings in their interactions. Ironwood wore his arrogance with as much pride as his snowy white dress jacket, the neurotransmitter over his dark eyebrows as gunmetal grey as his crisp collar. He held himself stiffly and stood at Ozpin’s side as though nothing were wrong between them. If he was going to wash his hands clean of Ozpin and the magic balancing the good and evil of Remnant, he could do so after the Vytal Festival. For now, he would play the part of gracious guest of honor until the military airships littering the skies of Vale turned wing back to Atlas.

Winter’s shimmering crystal gown coated her body like armor, her military dress jacket serving only to highlight the elegance of the encrusted fabric glimmering from hip to toe. Her bare throat and wrists accented the severe cut of the coat, reminding any and all that her position here tonight as future headmistress did not usurp her military rank or hide her lineage. On anyone else, the ensemble would be ridiculous but Winter was both breathtaking and terrifying in how well she wore her expectations. She flanked the four Headmasters, standing among the notable guests who filed to the front according to protocol. Soon, she would replace Ironwood at Ozpin’s elbow, upholding the strong connection between Vale and Atlas while continuing to extend a hand to Vacuo and Mistral. Pyrrha wondered if Winter knew about the Maidens and the icy woman had never let on that she was aware of the Relic wrapped away in an ancient and withering tree under Atlas Academy.

Ozpin nodded to the conductor and extended a hand to Headmistress Ioniadora, the esteemed woman giving him both a small smile and one gnarled hand as she handed her student assistant the ruby-topped staff. The boy handled the staff with fear and awe, holding it away from him as though it would coil and bite unexpectedly, and the warning glance she gave him was message well enough that this was a rare occurrence that would not be repeated for years. With a surprisingly quick step, the huntress followed Ozpin’s lead onto the dancefloor as students and guests cleared a large circle. The orchestra struck a lilting, silky tune and Lionheart turned to Winter too late as Ironwood offered her his hand. As the Atlasians took the floor behind Ozpin and Ioniadora, Lionheart instead invited an esteemed political influence from Menagerie from the flanked guests of note nearby to join him. The Faunus, with her long tail twitching in bemusement, accepted and the leaders of the huntsmen academies formally acknowledged the opening of the Vytal Festival.

The student bodies breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of speeches and, with the exception of a few who rolled their eyes despite their secret interest, tolerated the pomp of the situation. Ruby, Norah, and Ren gathered near a table to coo over a little dog an older woman brought along in a purse; as a leading patron of the arts in Vale, the widow was a well-known guest in her own right and made her own rules as to what would or would not be an acceptable date. Jaune and Yang watched Winter and Ironwood with far less interest than Qrow did from his shadowy corner, his jaw clenched tighter than his fist around his flask, as the icy Atlasians couldn’t quite upstage the experienced steps of Ozpin and Ioniadora as the headmistress’ robes swept the edges of the crowd.

Pyrrha decided the Vacuo leader reminded her of her Aunt May only if her beloved aunt would forgo her quaint and remote life to dress herself in fine clothes and carry a large stick; the curve in the woman’s joints demonstrated a hard life as an experienced huntress but the hands were unmistakably the signs of the same untreatable illness Aunt May struggled with. After the Vytal Festival, although she was assured an Atlasian soldier was stationed near Aunt May’s home to keep watch until Cinder was found, Pyrrha knew nothing would keep her from going back for a long visit to watch over Aunt May herself. Perhaps Ozpin would delay the transfer of powers from that ebony prison, even though Pyrrha still ached with the call of the Maiden’s song, for a few weeks of peace and quiet with the only member of her family she truly had left.

“Where’s Weiss?”

Jaune’s question picked Pyrrha’s attention from watching the Atlasian students struggle with the confusion whether or not to stand at attention as their leaders were present in the room; as Ironwood and Winter were entirely wrapped in their conversation as they danced, most of the students settled on some form of respectful straightening as the General and Specialist Schnee passed, slouching back into their teenage habits as the two glided away again.

“She’s warming up,” Ruby shared, wiping hair on her maroon and black dress as she happily took Jaune’s punch to replace her own that she abandoned in pursuit of petting the dog.

“I didn’t know Weiss was singing tonight,” Pyrrha said, secretly pleased. She never heard Weiss perform, just lovely snippets of practice when the heiress thought no one was nearby, and her own musical talents were one of the few things Weiss didn’t show off.

“It was why she didn’t want us to be late. She wants us here for support.”

Ruby’s insight, shared so casually, was another surprise to Pyrrha and one more insight into the life of the haughty girl few initially liked. Few at Beacon even know of Weiss for her musical renown, much less would be able to hold their own against Weiss' knowledge, skill, and experience in the performing arts. To learn the singer loved the song but not the stage was unexpected, though.

From what Pyrrha understood, Weiss had performed at all the major theaters and concert halls in Atlas and Mistral, even once or twice in Vale before enrolling at Beacon Academy. That she’d want her friends present for her own support seemed so unlike Weiss as Pyrrha knew her that the red-haired huntress wondered if she had taken any purposeful and willing time with Weiss since last school year. Everyone had made such a fuss over the things Weiss liked to do, especially the dress shopping and event planning, that perhaps no one but Ruby had thought to ask her what she didn’t like.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Pyrrha apologized, appreciative yet again for Ruby’s quiet strengths. “I thought she was entirely focused on the success of the dance itself. I didn’t think to ask if she needed anything beyond setting up tables or picking out fabric.”

“She wouldn’t put that on you,” Ruby replied, shrugging before nearly toppling in her heels. “We all know how busy you’ve been and, after the night out in Vale and what Blake told us on our mission the other week, you’ve got a lot more to be worried about than singing one song in front of a bunch of silly guests.”

“Still,” Pyrrha protested, pulling an arm tight to her side and moving to worry the edge of her huntress glove before remembering her arms were bare.

“If you help me find my boots, I’ll get you out of here early,” Ruby whispered conspiratorially, changing the topic as the orchestra crescendo signaled the end of the piece. Pyrrha watched the orange robes swirl around Ozpin’s black and green through her vantage point over the tops of heads in front of her, admiring Headmistress Ioniadora as the woman allowed her host to bow ever so slightly in respect to her. The regal huntress laid her arm across her heart in a similar sign of acknowledgement before rounding on her student assistant to bring her the ruby staff without delay.

While the chandeliers dimmed, casting a soft glow across the ballroom and lending what little light remained to the gems and jewels present in the vast space, Ozpin caught Pyrrha’s eye and gave a similar nod of respect. His silver wire frames glinted as he reached for where he had tucked the condensed cane into a pocket, extending the ebony length with a flick of the wrist to place its point against the floor; with a soft look, he turned from her as everyone’s attention shifted back to the conductor’s podium.

The room chatter died quickly as the woman standing next to the piano put down her glass and took a seat behind the keys, rustling her sheet music and subtly stretching her long fingers. Now Pyrrha understood the nervous pianist was waiting for Weiss and this performance, the nerves causing a tremble no longer present as Weiss herself came to stand near the crook of the piano. The woman smiled at Weiss and, from the quick connection the two shared when Weiss placed her hand at the edge of the instrument’s long lid, Pyrrha assumed this musician had performed with the heiress on many other occasions. There was a sense of urgency and acceptance between them, the partnership of those who handle pressure together under unusual or extraordinary circumstances, and Pyrrha recognized the exchange. This performance was more than a lovely little interlude.

Weiss stood in her simple but finely cut dress, each opal throwing rainbows across her pale skin. Her long white ponytail drifted over her shoulder as she hummed a quick tuning note to the faintest tap of hammer against string. A single violinist shouldered his instrument, the wood dark with memories older than the musician himself. Their secrets and potential hinted through the aged stain, even in the near-dark.

The aria began.

A seemingly simple note grew in size and shape as the violinist pulled from the depths of his core and twisted the tone into something sorrowful, a full breath between that and the next note, and then the next, and then one more before the piano took up the lamenting call. Deep stacks of harmony supported the lilting line along the top keys, a hint at what was to come from the girl standing so silent while the piano and violin reached up and around her in waves of sound before drifting away again. The tentative staccato of the upper notes hinted at range that should not be possible for a singer, much less a young and seemingly fragile figure standing in the near dark with hundreds of pairs of eyes taking in her first breath.

The first note Weiss sang lifted above and soared into the vaulted ceilings without hesitation.

A pure bell-tone note, sustained over the piano harmonic, took the entire lungful of air Weiss pulled from the room and Pyrrha felt a sharp prick in the corners of her eyes. Around her, those who held their own breath through Weiss’ entrance took their allotted amount of perfume-scented air, remembering how to do so only after the transition past her stunning entrance. Norah’s hand found Ren’s as their jaws dropped to the floor and Jaune himself placed a hand over his mouth as though to trap any sound he might inadvertently make as Weiss mimicked the violin’s opening phrase. A rounded end to one note, an inflection on another, and the attendees to this unique performance realized the language wasn’t one well-known; Pyrrha could sense the intellectuals among them run through possibilities.

The red-haired huntress wouldn’t call herself musical, limited to what she knew of Aunt May’s songs and what primary academies taught as standard, but appreciated the few concerts and professional performances she attended. She felt it deep in her heart, knew the communal sway regardless of whether she knew the name of a note or the academic structure of a chord. Her classmate was not just a talented musician but potentially one of the best singers living on Remnant. Pyrrha understood the confusion of the general populace of Atlas: with anything Weiss could desire at her fingertips under the Schnee name, with a skill that would allow her to live a luxurious life on her own merit, the girl wanted to study to become a huntress? And not even at Atlas?

Weiss continued to guide them farther down the unknown paths of scale and octave, extending her reach impossibly low before soaring high once more, each note purposeful. It didn’t take a professional musician to recognize the hard work behind Weiss’ performance, a technical spectacular for something so seemingly effortless. Every time Pyrrha felt she knew what would come next, whether the violin would dip or the piano would leap, a surprise struck her again and again until she gave up all pretense of following along. The song pierced her, a clean wound to allow anything inside that she hoped to keep to herself to melt out for anyone to see; any ice under her skin or bitterness in her spirit disbursed as Weiss’ song both mourned and celebrated.

The harmony and melody became increasingly entwined, splitting a single voice into duets and even farther into a true trio before rejoining for the notes that struck Pyrrha as most beautiful of all. Weiss never sank below the tenor of the violin, the wooden instrument daring to reach her highest octave as more of an apology in the attempt before accepting its own voice only temporarily, dipping to the piano’s baritone harmonics before realizing that, too, was not its place. Lost in the dark, it held the hand of its musician, the man bending and bowing with the phrases. The pianist dipped forward and backward ever so slightly as she spread herself across the keys and lunged into the notes with wide fingertips. Layering and intermingling with Weiss, her dynamics were as joyous or tearful as the moment required, no more or fewer notes expressed than were required. Weiss moved very little, nearly statue-still, save the necessary mechanics of her body moving air in and out and in again. The acoustics of the room held and released her voice in reverence, shaping the phrases before carefully placing them away, and the resonance wrapped around each of them warmly despite the lament buried within their folds.

A haunting chord pulled through Pyrrha with as much similarity to the rare experiences of her life as the first time she felt her body naturally move with the swing of her weapon, or the first time she used her aura to heal a deep wound, or the first time she laughed with her Beacon teammates. Firsts abounded through her mind and the release of the chord before transitioning to another was the equivalent parting of lips. Weiss, the obstinate and spoiled little girl who defied her own kingdom’s expectations to train as a huntress at the finest academy for the profession, transcended in the eyes of her peers. The same young woman who insisted they all dress well for this very event, seemingly petty and vain through the entire planning process, stood with no showmanship and gave humbly of herself.

Through the dignity of the piece, Weiss dug raw into a note before smoothing the edges, tugging her sibilance apart before gathering the words back together. The tempo ebbed and crashed through the investment of emotion from the violin, the piano gripping and releasing around Weiss as the soprano repeated a bridging vocal phrase no guest had yet translated. Slowly, the song insinuated an ending, unwilling to sustain the encompassing hold on the room as not a single person dropped a glass, coughed, or even turned their head from the three musicians. Even though they were all shrouded in the same shadows, there was no guessing where the heart of the room was held as Weiss raised one hand with her palm open, fingers stretched to display the invisible pulse.

As the last note faded, the pianist frozen in her hover over the now-familiar harmonic root, the violinist still in his resolution, Weiss bowed her head while each and every attendee held the moment close before it, too, fluttered into the aether. While the ballroom erupted into thunderous applause, cries of admiration for the young soloist killing any overtones remaining from the piece, Pyrrha blinked away the tears of reverence she felt as a surge of memory overtook her. The Maiden-song pulled at her, a swirl of golden flurries dancing in her hair to their own melody as she placed her hand upon the tree and felt Ozpin’s kiss upon her brow. A distant recollection of stardust shimmering on the arms of the blonde goddess beckoning to her, asking the small price of Pyrrha’s own life in return for fulfilling the promise of eternal peace. The call to her soul pulled and tugged until it felt as though some terribly important piece would rip out of her chest. It was a very real pain, something that shot through her as though an old wound suddenly reopened in her ribs to spill sanguine song through her body.

Before the room lit again in brilliant splendor, Pyrrha felt herself reach for Ozpin a moment before he was there, taking her hand in his and placing another at her waist as he guided her sway into the first step of a dance. Though the applause for Weiss continued, the orchestra began a new flavor to the evening and many who stood on the ballroom floor in previously stunned silence now took their partners hands and began their own matched steps.

 _Carah, speak to me,_ she heard him say to her without moving his lips.

“What could I possibly say? What was that?”

She nearly gasped, feeling the disturbing claim over her vital organs cease nearly as rapidly as it began, her feet stumbling as Ozpin began to lead her through the motions of a dance.

“My apologies,” the headmaster nearly whispered, looking around them as anyone who wasn’t dancing quickly vacated the ballroom floor for those excited to sway along to the lilting orchestral tune. “It has been a very long day and I believe I unintentionally shared something rather, and quite literally, painful with you that I intended to keep to myself.”

“It felt as though she was coming for me,” Pyrrha shuddered, taking a step closer to Ozpin before stepping back to a polite distance for a dancing partner. “I know it sounds ridiculous but, that tree and-“

She cut herself off, knowing to say anything more aloud would be unwise but unwilling to recall the experience without the tangible security of the spoken word.

 _It scared me_ , she shared eventually, once the shock lifted away enough to disburse her fear.

_It scared me, as well._

“Was it the song?” Pyrrha asked, Ozpin’s admittance of fear diving into the pit of her stomach as something she never wanted to hear him say again.

 _Likely what the song evoked_ , he replied, continuing to glance around them as he encouraged her to pick up her pace. _Again, it has been a very long day for both of us._

_You’re keeping something from me._

“As usual,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at her as she took a confident step in their paired movements and remembered how to dance without making a fool of herself. “I will share later, if you truly want to know.”

_Are we supposed to be dancing together?_

Ozpin’s short chuckle at her question caught the attention of those around them and Pyrrha was suddenly extremely aware of how the hem of her gown breathed against the stone, every stride slipping the fabric across her legs to do more than hint at their willow strength. Slit to the thigh, light silk draped along her hips. She even allowed herself an open smile as her partner led her in a full spin before joining his hand back at her waist.

 _No harm whatsoever,_ he replied, a genuine moment of pleasure sifting up through the uncertainty of Pyrrha’s shocking pain and the unsettling beauty of Weiss’ song. For precious minutes, they allowed themselves comfort in the other, their proximity to one another pushing back at the weight of the Maiden-spirit and the challenges they both faced. Briefly, the memory of that morning gave them strength, Pyrrha’s acceptance of Ozpin’s harsh secrets and Ozpin’s buckling under that forgiveness absolving the guilt of their soul-bond. Different than an aural trance, Pyrrha knew this feeling now for what it was and what she didn’t yet have the courage to say. This moment was not that moment and this dance was, for all outward intent, between a professor and prized student. Later, when she sank into her soft feather bed at his side, would she validate what she knew his heart was asking.

“What were the words Weiss was singing?” Pyrrha eventually asked over the strain of the stringed instruments, giving her mind something else to do besides gazing too long at Ozpin’s face so near her own while they traversed the dance floor in a simple step. “I’ve never heard a song like that before.”

“No, not many here have. The language itself is extraordinarily old and no longer spoken,” Ozpin said casually, continuing to take in their surroundings and steer them away from tight proximity to other dancers. They were both aware of the eyes on them and Pyrrha found it much easier to focus on what Ozpin was saying when she wasn’t thinking of how much she wished for the evening to end immediately or the night to go on forever.

“Why would you open the Vytal Festival with such a song?”

“What gives you reason to believe I sanctioned the performance?”

The tease in his voice was daring and Pyrrha smiled wide as she briefly squeezed his hand tightly. He smiled in return, such a simple action thrilling her heart to recover from the brief terror earlier.

“That is a song of warning and remembrance,” Ozpin’s mellow voice shared in her ear as he took the bridge of the orchestral piece and change in step as an opportunity to come closer without impropriety. “Some would claim the melody itself came from Mantle, long before it was known as Atlas, but I know the true origins.”

“It’s that old?”

Ozpin’s reproachful glance nearly made her laugh before he continued.

“Before the Great War, there were other atrocities Remnant bore, some more obscure than others. In the case of this particular piece, the village women sang a lament when a dark force stole their husbands and sons away from them, leaving them alone in a dangerous world with only their broken hearts. There was grief, and anger, but an acknowledgement that this loss would not be forgotten by the world. They needed to tell what happened to their village, to their loved ones, and music was the most universal language they had. That we still have, if I might say. The future king of the land that extended as far as the village heard the song and, many years later, translated as best he could while keeping the integrity of the message. Throughout the years, the song changed and drifted in and out of obscurity before finally seeing a resurgence among the Faunus in the tentative years after the Great War. I thought it was time we heard the message again.”

Pyrrha felt the cuffs of Ozpin’s sleeve brush her wrist, the strong cradle of his hand in her own the longest she had ever held it, the soothing familiarity of his deep green velvet warming her arm. In the middle of a crowded ballroom, vaguely recalling how to follow a dance lead, she realized touching him in front of others was a daring thrill that threatened to override her focus on their conversation.

“If the words were a language no longer spoken, how would Weiss know to sing them properly?”

“Miss Schnee did rather well handling the translation, although I’d dare say few could do better,” he said with a genial smile at a passing dancing couple as the orchestra began wrapping the piece. “I sent the music and suggested lingual details to her accompanist months ago, after we learned of the loss of our deputy headmistress.”

The formality and brevity of which he spoke of Glinda’s death was hardly a scratch in the surface of how Pyrrha felt his rage and unequivocal sadness to have lost the stern huntress, Amber’s murder and the splitting of the Maiden’s spirit layered into his grief.

“The performance was beautiful,” Pyrrha said, enjoying the way Ozpin leaned in to hear her even though she knew he felt her question before she asked it. “Do you think your message came through?”

“This is not only a rather important Vytal Festival but a time when our complacencies may be our greatest weakness throughout every kingdom,” he answered, pausing as Pyrrha followed the communal cue to pull away from her partner to tuck back in one last time before the last strain of music signaled the appropriate end to their time together. “Everyone in this room needed a reminder of their own humanity and the great burden that gift brings.”

Carefully, Pyrrha bowed slightly to the headmaster while he briefly touched his lips to the back of her hand, nodding silently in return. The last strain reverberated in her ribcage, pounding against her heart, as Ozpin recognized his hand in her own as a personal declaration of that very statement. It would have felt more natural to bring his cheek to her own, to cup her chin in his hands, to kiss her more than once. As it was, the moment lingered too long and Pyrrha was forced to be the first to break away, a hand at her elbow requesting the next dance.

 _This is not goodnight,_ he said as they parted, a light touch of his soul to her own before resuming their silence. Ozpin’s eyes flickered to Pyrrha’s next partner as he turned away and Pyrrha saw in those amber depths the sort of assessment reserved for those for whom trust wavers on the edge of a blade. The red-haired huntress turned as the violin soloist began a wild whirl in a dusky key, the hand at her elbow pulling away with a slight mechanical whir as James Ironwood asked for her hand in a dance.  

 

\---

 

There once was a man…

He loved the world and lived in it happily. Leading the people in his village, he grew it into a city and then into a kingdom. He was a peaceful ruler, a kind spirit, and nothing made him prouder than to watch the people in his lands thrive. Merchants traveled to strange countries, far flung and exotic places, looking for fine wares and unusual trinkets to bring back to the kingdom. The king allowed this and applauded the bravery of those who left the kingdom’s borders fully never expecting to perhaps make it back with whatever they found, if they were fortunate to not make the journey home empty handed.

Some brought back more than physical goods for trade, learning languages and making friendships across ethnic and cultural boundaries. It swayed nearby kingdoms, turned other cities with other rulers to loyalty, and the king made it a priority to treat each and every peace-loving region of the world with the same kindness and respect he gave his own people. The king sent gifts to those messengers who requested a sign of good-will from their homeland to further sway the relationships to trust. Sometimes the king received gifts in return. Not all of them were pleasant or even well-intentioned.

A young boy was brought to be a servant in the king’s home, carried in by guards as the child refused to walk or speak the entire way from his homeland to this new and terrifying place. The king forbade slavery, believing firmly in the free will of everyone, especially those living within his kingdom, and commanded the guards to explain why the merchants they were protecting had allowed such an inhumane practice to be accepted in his name. No one could answer, their shameful glances at one another revealing to the king that his subjects were not always upholding the laws of his own land.

The boy trembled, fearful, but the king gave him a hearty meal and sat quietly until the child was ready to speak. After several days of gaining his trust, causing the boy to laugh through little tricks and stories the king knew from his own time as a youth, the child finally spoke.

The boy shared that his kingdom was impoverished, starving. The ruler there was cruel, torturing and maiming for the pleasure of it, and the sky was rarely bright. A fearsome creature swooped from overhead, screeching as to forever deafen those who weren’t quick enough to cover their ears, and this beast often plucked unsuspecting innocents from the street. The guilty survived, scuttling to and fro from the ragged buildings standing through the occasional onslaughts of flame the creature spewed. Those who were caught escaping this wretched place were brought to a twisted citadel and never seen again, presumably perished or worse.

The young man, hardly more than a boy but with the weariness carried by all who lived through horror, allowed himself to be captured and traded as a gift to the strangers bearing the king’s mark. Anything, he confided, would be better than the certain untimely death he would face in his own kingdom. He had no family to return to but asked the king to consider sending food and cloth so those he left behind could at least have a better life while they had life worth living. Better yet, could the king help the people flee to safety, provide sanctuary to the families? The only hope they had came in the form of stories, children’s tales, and words couldn’t feed a starving belly or clean a dirty wound.

The king asked the boy to share one of these stories, to pick anything that put a spark back in the eyes of those who otherwise had nothing to live for besides protecting those they cared about, and there was no hesitation which tale the boy would tell.

There was a legend among those who cared, shared in hushed whispers between those hoping for a sliver of truth in the fable, of a silver-eyed warrior. This rare and special person could defeat the beasts that preyed upon them, could fight the darkness that threatened to consume the last of their little city, but no such person had been seen within the broken kingdom in years and years. The last child with silver eyes had been borne away near immediately upon birth, stolen by the creatures that prowled the land, and none of the lost or stranded travelers who found themselves in the broken city had brought with them any sort of supernatural powers to feed truth to the fable.

Nothing would be powerful enough to slay the demons in the city except the silver-eyed warrior, he insisted, sharing everything he knew about the city layout and the superstitions and beliefs of his culture. He spoke all evening while the king’s retinue gathered in the courtyard below, preparing for the journey while supplies were bundled for the troops and unfortunate villagers alike. As the boy spoke, he studied the king closely, noting the king’s eyes were nothing like the ash of his hair. The auburn looking back at him was calculating behind the shimmer of warmth and edge of intelligence, and the boy shrank away even as he longed to stay in the comfort of the king and his heavily-laden dinner tables.

As the horses stomped in the courtyard, his best commanders called to arms, the king approached the young woman who had joined his retinue with no less skill than some of his finest and most experienced lieutenants. Yet the woman had no ambition to lead his forces or be part of his personal guard, although her prowess and capability with a weapon gave her great merit among her fellow soldiers. She joined in youth, fleeing the poverty from the few and far flung portions of the kingdom that struggled to farm the rocky land or pull resources from the brittle earth, and enlisted only for the coin she would save to eventually leave the kingdom. She had a wandering soul, a spirit restless when sitting too long in one place, and she took the military training as lessons in how to protect herself when her service ended. As military does, even in times of peace, the few skirmishes she fought with vagabonds and criminals left scars but none so obvious as the one that stole conventional beauty from her.

A long strike across her eyes, their silver depths saved only by the bridge of her own nose, the jagged wound had healed without illness but more men were afraid of her than admired her for the lovely young woman she was once considered. She bore it regally, as she would not hide the wound that paid the cost of freeing children from traders who sought to smuggle their illicit goods across the king’s land to a city-state steeped with procurers of evil deeds. Even if she were not as proud of it as she was, she would not be able to hide such a scar.

When he saw her eyes, he nearly fell to his knees, only his kingly demeanor keeping him on his feet when he found the silver-eyed warrior of the child’s tales among his own soldiers. He set in motion certain plans that would inevitably change the course of Remnant, based on this chance encounter.

The king set the pace to the dark kingdom, led by the guards who were tight lipped and ashamed of having betrayed their ruler’s ethics, their lure from the king’s well-known ethics in the form of the bright coins and rich fabrics promised to them by the merchants they protected. Every night, they made camp quietly and quickly, eating with subdued but good-natured spirits before retiring to rest their saddle-sore bones. The king, every night, requested the young knight with the bold scar to attend him as a personal guard while he slept. She sat faithfully outside his tent and kept watch through the night, relieved only in the early morning by her own commander for a few hours rest. She couldn’t help but feel that the king keep an eye on her, studied her when he believed she was preoccupied, and was wary for what his inevitable request may be.

By the time the horses and men both shied from the brewing storm on the horizon, their destination was marked all too obviously by the gnarled peaks of a castle in the distance. The small fortress, surrounded by the rubble that could only be a village laid to waste by the winged creature the boy spoke of, seemed to pulse with the evil from within, a heart rapid and fluttering in the hazy ever-night.

That last evening, the king looked his young knight full in the face without flinching and dipped his face close to her own, whispering in her ear on his way into his tent while she took up her guard. If she were to follow him at his side into battle, mustering every bit of her bravery to free this tortured city from the grip of the evils they were to face together, he would offer her whatever her heart desired. She had only to consider it, no answer expected until morning, and she had his assurance no one would flinch at the sight of her in their kingdom ever again. This was contingent on her valor in battle and to never leave his side as he rode to vanquish the fire-breathing beast and then onward to the cruel villain who held the lands in thrall. What he required of her was to destroy his enemy as she had her own. They knew each other then, what power he referenced, and she nodded once that she could consider this call-to-arms while standing guard as she had every night on their journey so far.

All night, in the light of the broken moon, she sat outside his tent, recalling suffering the terrible wound when rescuing children that cold winter day. In her first year of service, with the other men and women in the retinue who intended to take note of maintenance needed along the border roads, she never expected her first service to her kingdom to maim her so boldly. The soldiers intended to make camp when the dark creature the smugglers released, exploding from a covered cage pulled on rickety wheels, was so fast that few had time to recognize the threat before the shadow of death covered them all. Children cried and she worked fast to free them from their bonds but she could hear the cries of her fellow soldiers behind her as she crawled under a tipped wagon. She pulled the youth under with her, muffling their screams and shielding them as limbs rolled and blood flowed, waiting for the right moment to launch out at the creature with her weapon and take it by surprise while it stalked her companions.

She recalled, under that moon, the mistiming of her leap and knowing with every piece of her being that she had sorely overestimated herself. She would die for her overestimation and, in her grief, even as she swung the blade at the dark creature’s neck, she thought of the children she had served to a quicker death than what they would perhaps find at their intended destination. Through the swing, her anger at the injustice of it all poured through her, lighting the night as she cried out and met her fate with eyes wide open: she would look at the thing that killed her and know it as her last sight.

That evil beast was indeed her last sight for quite some time but it had not taken her life after all.

She was brought back to the kingdom as a cripple, blinded in battle and bandages wrapped over her scarred face; the rest of her party couldn’t understand why the world lit up around them as bright as sun but under the gaze of the first evening star. Although she worked hard at staying calm and collected at all times after regaining her sight, the shadow of a large Grimm was the most fearful thing to her, nearly more so than the idea of another near-mortal maiming, and her whole body shook beneath her armor. Even though she still went and cleared the kingdom of Grimm when her division was sent to do so, never speaking a word of opposition to an order, she dreaded those creatures more than the blade of an enemy or the chance at mortal illness in foreign lands. Now she had only name her terms to leave that life forever.

The silver-eyed warrior wanted the king, in his kindness, to grant her a deep-rooted wish she had not shared with a single soul before that day.

Give me a child in need of a mother, she asked at the break of dawn as the king left his tent to receive her answer. Give me a child, a good horse, and enough coin to leave your kingdom without want. I will continue to rid the world of monsters with the training provided to me, and speak well of you and your lands, but I will never return. I will spare a poor child from the same choice I made, she said, becoming impassioned as she spoke. Someone so young should not have to make a choice so extreme as to take up arms in order not to starve in the streets, especially in such a rich and decorated city as the king’s capitol. In return, she would do anything the king asked of her, including the attempt to unleash a power inside her that she hoped never use again and knew so little about that she wasn’t even sure if she could guarantee what she promised. He nodded his agreement.

They rode together at the front, the king and the silver-eyed warrior, and the shrieks from the beast as its shadow rippled over them nearly caused her to faint with fear. She began to hum, a small tune she remembered as a child, to counteract her terror. Soon, as the winged Grimm soared lower and lower to crest the foothills of the broken village, she sang quietly with whatever breath her body allowed. As she took up her lance, silver-eyes bright in the fractured light of the valley, the soldiers gathered behind her took up the song as they charged.

A burst, as though the sun fell to bounce against the land, flashed shadows across the valley while the creature swooped at the king and his troops. Her weapon, finally buried deep in the side of the beast as its mortal remains began to flake away, was ruined. She took up a long sword from one of the fallen soldiers, wiping it free of blood as she followed the king. Villagers huddled in the rocky terrain that was once their home, some of the youth cheering but the few elderly shaking their heads that this was naught but a dream. While the soldiers assisted the haggard citizens into the safety of the patrol and guided those who would come into the secure center of their guard, the king and the warrior continued with a choice selection of men and women best suited to wield their words as well as a knife. While the king told his soldiers and his kingdom that diplomacy was their goal in rescuing these villages and there was no intent to start a war, he kept his own council on exactly what would be done.

Although the king had not seen her face, he believed the evil hold over the land to be that of a sorceress that was so far undefeated by any opponent. The far expanse from which she once fled to was growing in strength, stretching its reach to the borders of towns and cities that had no wish to see their farmlands cripple with ooze and corrupt the people who felt no escape was possible. Of all the worries regarding his lands and his people, that this sorceress would create similar ruins in his own kingdom was his greatest.

A voice began to encroach upon their thoughts, the sly voice no sweeter than scraping hair from hides or flesh from bone, and every step they took on the way to the sharp-edged palace caused that voice to become louder and louder within their own skulls. The king had no eyes for his men, no attention on their shifting eyes or unsettled posture on their skittish horses, and pressed them onward with little thought to anything in the world beyond what truth there might be to the silver-eyed legend. If the myth was wrong, he led them all into certain annihilation. If he was right, just two would die.

The voice promised him answers, insisted there was more he’d want to know before this empress split him in two for his own wrongs against her, but he gave her no warning to the weapon he brought with him. No words of peace, no spare bit of mercy or consideration, not even a phrase to spare on behalf of the villagers he freed from her or for the bravery of his men. The ruler was near mad with determination and he led them along a broken marble path to face the queen of this shattered city.

All it took was one well-placed arrow nocked by a handmaiden of the empress. Before any speeches or declarations were made, as they approached the warped and brittle metal of the castle gates, the command whistles of unseen guards on the battlements gathered the king’s soldiers in tight formation but not quick enough. When the warrior woman saw the shaft pierce the king’s heart, she saw with it her only chance to leave with her wish granted. The only way she would leave the battlefield alive was if the king himself lived to fulfill his promise to her and this would not be where she died, not as her new life was to begin should she achieve this one feat she promised him. She gathered him to her, shaking him, calling him back from the precipice of the mortal plane.

In his dying breaths, as his most trusted advisers and military politicos gathered around him in horror, the king declared this young woman to carry the weight of his crown and handle the affairs of the kingdom until she herself knew when the time was right to bow from power. He looked her in the eyes as he pronounced her queen regent until she secured the appropriate heir to his kingdom. She felt him slump in her arms as the king’s guard knelt on that ruined pathway in front of the sorceress’ castle and a terrifyingly familiar fear and fury surged through her.

In her grief, she cried out and the light in the valley flooded with a blinding glare. The voices in their heads ceased, the mysterious taunting emptying out into a pained howl before it, too, died down to a whimper to match the trembling of the king’s men before finally fading away. The king was right that only one would die that day if the silver-eyed warrior was truly their greatest weapon against the evil creeping into his lands.

They bore the body of the king at the front of the processional back to the kingdom, weary refugees trudging behind sorrowful guards and kingsmen. The warrior woman followed behind the king’s body, nearly tied to the back of her horse as she drifted in and out of consciousness, her blindness and exhaustion untreatable. With fear and reverence, the soldiers demanded the king’s court to accept the king’s last order and name this sickly woman as queen regent until a suitable heir could be found, as the dying words were agreed upon by all who bore witness to the blood-flecked words. The entire kingdom mourned but none so much as the silver-eyed warrior when she inherited the power that trapped her.

Far from honoring his promise should she complete the task he asked of her, he made her captive to a land she did not love and people she did not wish to lead. For all the king spoke of free will, he thoroughly took away any chance the silver-eyed warrior had of fulfilling her own destiny. Bound to the castle, she took solace in the only companion she could bear the sight of: the little boy without a family to call his own.

Years later, the young boy grew into a fine young man and then a kind and just leader worthy of the crown. The silver-eyed warrior, known for her sadness yet fairness when it came to matters of the monarchy, kept the kingdom from falling into the hands of greedy politicians and vain, stupid brats of the court. She declared the young man king before disappearing one night with three trusted maidens of her personal household, horses laden with fabrics and coin to trade on their way across Remnant to finally begin the life she always wanted to live.

The king was loved and feared in equal measure, the young man’s hair growing silver before his time and his brown eyes lightening to amber over the years. Some wondered if he wasn’t truly the child of his predecessors, such was the resemblance to the king whose final act was to free a tortured city from the grip of a long-vanquished sorceress.

As went the silver-eyed warrior queen, so went the opportunity to ask her, as the king himself would never say which was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the story at the end was a little smack-you-over-the-head and poorly formatted but, eh, I wanted to continue on. 
> 
> Believe me, James doesn't dance so much as share important and course-altering information while rhythmically continuing control over his surroundings.
> 
> (Music notes: there isn't a particular song Weiss sang here... this section was written while listening to a combination of Sibelius violin concertos, Dvorak operas, and a gorgeous recording of The Coventry Carol from a Lutheran choir. Remnant has its own music and own performance standards so I'm sure your imaginations are up to the challenge.)


End file.
